


Bolster My Broken Wings

by inkbadger



Series: Broken Wings [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depressed Lance, Female pronouns after that, Fluff, Gen, I swear this is gonna end with a happy ending, Injured Lance (Voltron), It's gonna get worse before it gets better, Male pronouns in first chapter, Nesting, PTSD Shiro, Platonic Shiro/Everyone, Protective shiro, Sentient Lions, Wingfic, anxious lance, bear with me, mindmelding, protective pidge, ptsd lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkbadger/pseuds/inkbadger
Summary: Their wings were beautiful, Lance thought to himself as the group took to the sky of the planet that they had taken refuge on for the night.He would never be able to join them.Lance sighed, rubbing his shoulder restlessly before turning to enter the castle again as the group vanished from sight, their faint whoops and calls echoing throughout the empty sky.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I love wingfics. And Voltron. And hurting my babies in ways that they really don't deserve. 
> 
> I SWEAR I LOVE THEM OKAY.

_He’s six, and his abuela stands behind him as they look over the ocean, his siblings looping lazy circles below them, watchful in case they are needed._

_“You can do this, mijo.” She says in her thick accent, a hand between his shoulders. “We are here for you.”_

_He is shaky, but he is braced for it._

_He nods._

_She pushes him over the edge, and the air is cutting him, biting into his cheeks, and his mind is blank and he’s going to crash-_

_but then his wings catch him and he is flying, gliding with the instincts that awoke in him to keep him safe. His eldest brother calls to him in a wild whoop as he descends to them, and his abuela appears next to him, her own long wings growing silver with age._

_“They will carry you, mijo.” She encourages with that wry grin, banking toward him. “Carry you on the winds and to the sky and even beyond.”_

_He is nine, and his first growth spurt hits, and he cannot crawl from beneath his covers as his back aches with a pain he has never felt before. His family joins him throughout the day, siblings crooning softly to him as he cries, his mother rubbing gentle circles in between his aching shoulders. It hit him hard, they say, but he’ll be okay -_

_Twelve, and hurling himself over the edge of the same bluff his abuela once pushed him from, screaming his pain to the skies in grief because she is gone-_

_Fourteen, lanky and self-assured as he dives into the ocean, his wings folding an instant before impact-_

_Seventeen, shivering in the shower because he knows he should have been able to complete that simulation but didn’t, his shoulders aching as he curls himself tightly, wishing more than anything he wasn’t so useless-_

_Eighteen, turning on Hunk when he asks why he won’t show his wings to the world, his feathers molting from the stress of his secret-_

_Eighteen, alone, awkwardly preening his single wing, his lip curled in frustration because he just can’t do it-_

_Nineteen, his birthday. Pretending it doesn’t exist because he refuses to remember the ones that came before, refuses to remember the things he lost but knows it was his fault-_

_Nineteen, correcting Pidge when he realizes that his wings are at the wrong angle-_

_Twenty, his first birthday in space. Spending it fighting for his life against a Galra attack, refusing to go into the healing pods because he is worthless enough as is-_

_Worthless._

_Useless._

_He screams silently in his nightmares, screams for someone to help him, anyone to help him, but there is no answer. Alone. He doesn’t remember what is real and what is fake. Everything blurs together until his mind feels ready to explode._

_He screams, and no one answers._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Depression and Anxiety are going to be fairly prominent in this work, closely followed by PTSD. Remember that if you're in a dark place that you should try to talk to someone or get in touch with someone who can help you.

Their wings were beautiful, Lance thought to himself as the group took to the sky of the planet that they had taken refuge on for the night.

He had managed to weasel his way out of it by using the injured card- not entirely a lie, since he had been banged up pretty good during the last skirmish with the Galra. Not enough to warrant getting stuffed back into one of the healing pods, but enough that he was feeling the effects.

“Come on, Shiro!”

He watched as their leader paused, glancing back to the ship with conflict clear on his face. He was a good leader for Voltron- always putting the needs of the team over his own wants. He had been the one to offer to stay behind with him, but Lance had waved him off with a smile. He wouldn’t hold him back from doing what he needed to in order to relax.

Instead he watched from the entrance of the ship, hidden in the shadows as Shiro unfolded his wings, immediately catching his breath.

Shiro had once had wings as dark as a ravens, Keith had admitted once. After his capture by the Galra, they had been marred by a jarringly deep violet iridescence and varying shades of silver and white lightning-like patterns. In a couple of places, feathers were still recovering from the damage. Likewise, the already massive wingspan he possessed had seemed to become even larger- despite what Shiro said about it.

Hunk’s were the second largest of their team, with a gradient of black to a warm sienna at the tips, dapples of dark brown scattered across the tops while the undersides were a pristine creamy white. Lance loved looking at them, reminded so strongly of home and the colors of the earth.

Keith had the most amazing raven wings, large and formidable, always quivering with some form of tension. It wasn’t anything out of the norm- Keith just didn’t express much emotion with his wings. But the iridescent hues of dark violets to blues to even some reds made his wings look as though they contained a cosmos within their feathers.

Pidge had the smallest wings, but that was also because she was still growing into them. The youngest of their group, she had only just begun to learn how to fly under his and Hunk’s tutelage before they had left Earth. Her wings reminded Lance of a barn owl, with creamy golds and browns and whites blended together. And since they were still growing, they were constantly molting soft downy feathers throughout the castle.

The thought brought a smirk to his face that was just as quickly erased as he watched Allura and Coran dip down on some kind of thermal. Alteans, it turned out, usually tended to have two or three sets of wings, though how that worked out anatomically still had him scratching his head from time to time.

Both sets of Coran’s wings matched the color of his hair, with the undersides a darker russet brown. The tips of his feathers were similarly russet, and the tempo of his flight matched his personality- a little quirky but no less amazing to watch.

Allura’s, however, were the most incredible. Her two pairs were long and narrow- not unlike a gulls, Lance frequently thought to himself. They were a brilliant white, and they gleamed with iridescent hues of pastel violets and pinks under the light. Elegant in every sense of the word.

Lance sighed, rubbing his shoulder restlessly before turning to enter the castle again as the group vanished from sight, their faint whoops and calls echoing throughout the empty sky.

_You’re useless to them._

He wasn’t sure the first time that someone had called him worthless. It had to have been shortly after The Accident, he mused. While most had begun to look at him with some mixture of pity and disgust, there were those who had decided to verbally inform him of their thoughts on his situation.

_You don’t belong here._

He’d always managed to get along fine with Hunk- the guy was his closest friend and definitely the most loyal person that he’d encountered in his life. Pidge was a close second, with her dry humor and perpetual curiosity that very nearly mirrored Lance’s rule-breaking.

But then the whole scenario with Shiro happened, and the next thing they all knew they were in space and being proclaimed defenders of the universe. However, no one had expected Lance to be so distanced from the group- particularly when Hunk knew that he had come from a big family. They marked it off as normal. Sometimes people took time getting used to suddenly being thrust into a new flock dynamic. Lance was just one of those cases in their eyes.

His feet carried him to the training deck.

He knew that they wouldn’t return for several hours. They rarely did.

Instead, Lance activated the gladiators, choosing not to use his bayard as he threw himself into the mindless task of hand to hand fighting. It was one of the only simulations he was able to accurately take part in, what with the others being flight-based. It was difficult, but he managed. It was early enough in their relationships that no one made too much fuss if someone didn’t want to reveal their wings to another. It _was_ fairly intimate.

With a growl, Lance pushed himself away from the wall he’d been pressed against, ducking under the blow and bringing the gladiator’s helm down on his knee, dropping it.

By the time he exited the deck, he was exhausted and nearly shaking. He probably shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard, but what other choice did he have? He was useless to the team otherwise.

_My Paladin._ Blue’s voice rumbled through his mind, his thoughts apparently having caught her attention.

“Hey, Blue.” He replied with a tired smile as he entered his room, making a beeline for the bathroom. Her warm presence was comforting in his mind, always rolling like a gentle tide against the sand.

_You are troubled, My Paladin._

“It’s nothing.” Lance sighed, beginning to slowly peel his suit off, wincing at a particularly painful bruised rib. Most of his skin was currently painted in dark bruises ranging from black to purple to mottled blues and greens that would darken later.

Damn. He was definitely going to feel those later.

_They would not see you the way you do, My Paladin._

Lance frowned, pausing at her words.

“Yeah.” He said instead, half-hearted as he turned on the water-equivalent they had on the ship, ignoring the ache in his chest as he turned to see the single wing splayed out behind him.

The scarring was clearer to him when the feathers were dampened with water, thin lines of silver and dark brown arcing across the feathers and skin.

His abuela had once told him that his wings reminded her of an eagle owl she had seen once.

_“They will carry you to the skies, mijo.”_ She had said with a knowing smile. _“Trust in them, and they will take you farther than you imagine.”_

He sighed, cleaning up as quickly as was possible before flicking the water from his wing and getting changed, crawling into his oversized nest of blankets and tucking his wing tightly against his spine as he pulled the large blanket over himself.

He was tired, his lids slipping closed as the door to his room opened quietly.

The steps were too light to be Pidge or Keith or Allura, but too quiet to be Hunk or Coran. Shiro, then.

He hummed in sleepy protest as Shiro’s hand moved the blanket away from his face, a large hand gently carding through his hair.

“Mm, Shiro?” he asked faintly, yawning.

“Hey.” The older man smiled warmly, looking a bit sheepish at having woken him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Jus’ tired. And sore.” Lance replied, offering a weak smile in return. “Good flight?”

“You would have loved it.” The other said. “Keith and Pidge tried diving and Pidge outflew Keith like she was a pro.”

“That’s Pidge.” Lance smiled, genuine even as his lids began slipping closed.

“Get some rest. It’s going to be another long day tomorrow.” Shiro smiled again tiredly. “You did good out there today, Lance.”

His wing brushed against the nest as he turned to exit, and Lance savoured the touch despite the small voice in the back of his mind screaming that he was unworthy of such a thing.

The door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, thank you for the support!

Meals were always an interesting affair.

With little need to keep their wings folded, the team and their Altean companions took up a great deal of space in the dining area, feathers and bodies sprawled every which way. Shiro seemed to have the habit of half-shielding whoever happened to sit next to him with a heavy wing- usually Keith or Pidge- while absently munching on whatever Coran happened to place in front of him.

Something that Hunk was rather offended about, considering that his role as a cook had been overlooked since their arrival to the ship.

Lance rolled his eyes as Hunk shot another look at Coran, his thoughts almost as loud as his actions.

“Hunk, buddy.” He yawned, rubbing his forehead with a faint smirk, “If looks could kill than Coran would be fried chicken by now.”

He hadn’t slept well- read, slept at all- the night before. He had been up using the training deck to get his much needed additional skills into top shape, and had only crawled into bed an hour before Allura had sounded the alarm.

The woman really needed to find something better to do than sound false alarms in the middle of the night. Did she ever sleep?

“Sorry.” Hunk muttered in return, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Just, this is not food.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Lance grimaced, prodding whatever it was on his plate with his spoon. It looked like some strange crossover between blue jello and lemon pudding, and yet it tasted faintly spicy. “Alien food is weird.”

“Oi!” Coran puffed up indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I was the finest cook Altea had to offer back in the day!”

“To Alteans, maybe.” Keith muttered as Allura coughed something unintelligible that may or may not have been a disagreement.

“Why I never-“ Coran fumed, though it looked more comical than anything else on his features. His wings bristled in indignant affront before he huffed and made a show of folding them neatly. “Mutiny from the lot of you.”

“Now Coran,” Allura tried, though she sounded far too amused for the situation.

“No! Mutiny!” the Altean persisted, crossing his arms and turning his nose in the air.

Lance smiled, though inwardly he was berating himself. He’d gone and started another disagreement, and before long Hunk would be demanding that the kitchen be turned over to him. Again. It was a frequent argument, and one that Coran was currently winning by pointing out that until Hunk could identify most of the alien ingredients, it was best for him to continue providing…

Whatever the hell this was.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Shiro’s gigantic wing shadowed Lance’s shoulder, though their leader didn’t even glance up from his bowl of alien-cereal. The long feathers brushed against the back of his neck- intimate in ways Lance was definitely not comfortable with.

“Well, I think I’m done.” He announced, plastering on his usual grin and leaning back. “Thanks for breakfast, Coran! I’m off to the training deck!”

“To do what?” Keith deadpanned from Shiro’s other side, leaning forward to see around the man’s broad chest.

_Ouch._

That one hurt.

Lance maintained a lofty air as he somehow managed to escape Shiro’s wingspan without touching him, brushing off his jacket.

“To train, obviously.”

“Yeah, right.” The other male rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. A moment later he yelped as a heavy wing clipped him upside the head, courtesy of Shiro.

Lance chuckled, sticking his tongue out at Keith as he stared at Shiro accusingly before making his escape to the training deck.

It wasn’t required that they train on days like these- when they had a few days of respite between Galra attacks and rescuing planets under Zarkon’s control- but Lance was on edge enough that he figured it was safe to go practice his sharpshooting. Keith tended to alternate nights with him when it came to their odd insomnia-fueled training and the rest of their flock’s outings.

He activated the locks on the doors and the blackouts on the windows- Coran had been puzzled when he’d asked if it were possible to do it, but hadn’t prodded. Something that Lance was extremely grateful for. And, because he trusted Coran- and Coran had given him the ultimate clearance- Lance knew that no one would be able to hack in to peek on him.

Cough, _Pidge_.

When he was entirely certain that he wouldn’t be disturbed, Lance darkened the lights and activated the sniper simulation that he’d discovered in the deck’s coding.

The simulation required the entirety of his concentration, and if he were completely honest with himself, he didn’t want anyone to see how terrible he was.

_“Simulation, begin.”_

Inhale.

Exhale.

A flicker of something out of the corner of his eye.

He whirled, firing off two shots, picking off the gladiators that had appeared. Both dropped, holograms appearing above their forms with the results of the shot. One had been clipped in the shoulder, the other hit in the chest.

Not good enough.

He growled, turning to face the next several gladiators, their weapons raising even as he shot them down.

Ribs.

Neck.

Chest.

Chest.

His consistency was non-existent.

Still, he pushed himself. Harder, harder. The levels on the gladiators steadily rose, but Lance hardly even noticed, thrust into his thoughts.

Chest.

_Not a kill-shot. Lungs or heart. Who died?_

Shoulder.

_Useless. Hunk’s down._

Clipped.

_Keith._

He drove himself until his fingers were nearly locked around the rifle and he could hardly breathe from the exertion of avoiding the gladiators.

“End simulation.”

The room fell silent, the gladiators remaining with their holograms displayed above them as the lights slowly hummed back to full power.

He was shaking.

_You’re the sharpshooter. If you miss, they die._

Lance grit his teeth, shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the thought. His bayard collapsed on itself as he lowered his arm, only just realizing how much he was shaking. How long had he been at this?

_Your flock is waiting for you, My Paladin._

Blue’s voice provided a welcome distraction, and he gratefully accepted the energy that his lion brought him.

“How long have I been in here?”

There was silence for a moment.

_Your midday meal has just passed._

He nodded. That sounded about right.

_They wish to fly with you._

“Not gonna happen, Blue.” He laughed hollowly, rubbing his face as he dragged himself over to the controls, inputting the code that Coran had given him to unlock the doors and allow the viewing area to have access to the deck once again. “You and I both know that.”

The team were, in fact, waiting for him when he finally stepped back out into the corridor, Shiro looking at him with his trademark _Are-you-okay-because-you-look-exhausted_ face.

“Hey.” He greeted, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow.

“We were going to ask if you wanted to join us, but I think you need a shower.” Pidge scrunched up her nose, her wings flicking in distaste as she caught a whiff of him. “Like, ASAP.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted before looking back to Shiro and offering him a faint smirk.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

Shiro nodded, his white forelock prominent against his forehead, and offered Lance a small smile of his own.

“Alright. Don’t forget to eat. We’re going to head out for a quick flight. Coran’s doing maintenance, so if you need anything he’s somewhere around here.”

“Got it. Have fun.”

The smile was harder to hold on his features now, but he managed as they parted ways.

“Is he ever going to come out with us?” he heard Keith ask.

“It takes time to adjust to new situations. Lance just needs more time.” Shiro replied.

Lance hunched his shoulders, trying not to let the words get to him as he made a beeline for the showers.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite his easygoing and occasionally obnoxious personality, Lance seemed to be unusually adept in avoiding physical contact with the team, Shiro came to notice over time.

Allura seemed to be the only one that Lance seemed to _have_ to initiate contact with, though it appeared to be more out of the necessity than want. Otherwise, he seemed to make a distinct point to avoid the Princess altogether, preferring Coran’s company.

In that dynamic, neither Lance nor Coran seemed inclined to initiate contact with one another. That being said, Coran seemed to take a shine to the Blue Paladin, quickly becoming attached to him and taking him under his wings when outside of their training. Not that he would admit it, but everyone else could see that he was most fond of Lance.

Keith likely didn’t even notice Lance’s distance, given that the Red Paladin wasn’t the most touchy-feely sort himself.

Pidge picked up on it, but said nothing, often looking to Hunk for cues on how to handle the situation. The youngest of their group was uncanny in her technological abilities, but still had a ways to go in figuring out everyone’s place in this new flock.

Hunk, being the closest to Lance- well, he knew more about the Blue Paladin than anyone else, at least- was the least bothered by the Blue Paladin’s behavior. Lance had never been one to allow casual touches of affection or anything else, for that matter.

Shiro, however, was perceptive, and it bothered him.

Usually a flock would be much closer than the level that they were at now. While he and most of the others had established a mental connection from their training, Lance’s mental presence was fleeting and withdrawn. Only vague tendrils of thought could be sensed by the leader of their team, and it wasn’t often that he could pick up anything distinct or coherent enough to understand. Granted, it was still the beginning stages of their flock dynamic, so Lance could simply be wary of them. But even so, wouldn’t that mean that he and Hunk and Pidge would act more like a flock than they did now?

It became more noticeable during the evenings, when the group would retreat to the gigantic nest in the lounge, the circular seating incorporated into the cushioning, and preen one another. Allura and Coran usually declined, though it was more due to their preference and differences in species. Altean wings needed a different grooming technique entirely, as it turned out.

As did Lance.

The first time it had happened, the Blue Paladin had blindly walked into the situation. In fact, he had looked downright uncomfortable with the whole scenario laid out before him. After all, how often was it that anyone got to see Keith so relaxed as Shiro’s hands gently combed through his feathers, a thoughtful expression on the older man’s features.

“Ah.” He’d said, his eyes looking everywhere except for the hands that were being used to gently work their way through feathers.

“Come join us, Lance.” Allura invited, her tone warm and gaze inviting as she and Coran leaned against one another, wings tangled together.

“I’m not quite- I mean-“ the Blue Paladin stuttered for the first time that Shiro could remember. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

With that, the other member of their team backtracked out of the room, leaving several puzzled glances turning to Hunk for some sort of explanation.

Instead, the larger teen shrugged.

“He’s private with that kind of stuff.” He offered, causing Shiro’s lips to frown as he worked over the words in his mind. “Even back in the Garrison, he would never let anyone see his wings. The only time I knew he had them was when we’d start molting from stress before an exam.”

“You’ve never seen his wings?” Allura was puzzled.

Shiro’s lips turned further downward in thought as he paused in carding through Keith’s feathers, glancing toward the door as he mentally began compiling a list on all the odd quirks his flock seemed to have.

Why would Lance want to keep his wings hidden?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I said things would get worse before they get better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It came to my attention that BMBW was similar to another fic by KnightNuraStar called "Blanket of Feathers". I have gotten in touch with the author and was given a go ahead to let you all know that they have approved this story. Any similarities you may see are entirely coincidental.

They had Pidge.

Her wings were pinned even as she fought against the pack of Galra struggling to haul her back to their ship- a hellion on the field.

Lance’s heart was in his throat- he didn’t even think as he ejected himself from Blue, freefalling through the thin atmosphere, Shiro yelling at him to get back to Blue as Black circled above, dodging blasts from the ion cannon that the main ship has honed in on the head of Voltron.

He landed heavily, his limbs protesting the sudden increase in pressure. Blue’s presence in his mind flickered as a blast managed to catch her in the flank, and with a roar that could have deafened the gods she descended upon the ship that had dared attack her, shredding it with an efficiency that Lance couldn’t help but be proud of.

His bayard found its way into his shaking hand, the other pressed to his side where he had likely cracked a rib on impact.

_No. None of that. I have to fight my way out of this._ He thought to himself, inhaling deeply in an attempt to center himself as he lunges out of the safety zone and straight into the front lines of the Galra soldiers. _Pidge needs you._

Her cries were growing fainter- the Galra had managed to prevent her from breaking free and getting air beneath her wings.

_No one touched Pidge._

He growled, pushing aside all other thoughts as his bayard lit up and formed itself into the familiar shape of his rifle. He knew how to use it with deadly accuracy- nights spent sleeplessly training paid off, if nothing else.

_“Lance, get out of there!”_

_“What do you think you’re doing! You can’t possibly get to Pidge!”_

_“Don’t be a hero, Lance!”_

He grunted as a heavy blow rained down on his helmet- with a scream of static, his comms went silent. Galra seemed to be terrifyingly efficient when it came to cutting them off from one another, regardless of Voltron or not.

_Do it for them._

Whirl, duck. Shoot.

_They don’t need you anyway._

A Galra threw itself at him.

Fire.

_They’ll be able to replace me. Blue is the easiest pilot to replace anyway._

His thoughts grew blurred as he threw himself further and further into the horde. His helmet had been discarded- the comms weren’t working anyway, and it was only limiting his vision as he followed Pidge across the planet’s surface. Above them, the lions continued to hold the Galra at bay, but it wasn’t a position they could hold much longer without putting the remaining Paladins at risk.

“PIDGE!”

_“LANCE!”_

Locked onto her location, Lance turned, cutting a line through the uniformed soldiers, hardly even flinching as he took fire to himself. His mind was attuned to a single focus.

The Galra didn’t have wings- according to rumors, they cut them off themselves as a way to display their strength. Wings had no place in their society- they were a weakness.

_He was a weakness._

Finally, _finally_ , there was an opening in the horde. Lance broke through, rifle firing at those around Pidge even as the thundering of another group of Galra grew louder behind him.

She was ashen-faced even as she continued to struggle, her bayard whipping around her in an attempt to carve enough space to spread her wings and escape.

Lance descended upon the pack of Galra like the wrath of God, all but ripping them off of her as he continued to fight with a viciousness that was fueled by fear for his flock-sister. His head was bleeding from a glancing blow from a knife, and he had to shake the thick liquid off every several moments to keep it from bleeding into his eye.

He nearly shrieked when crimson spattered across Pidge’s wings.

The lions roared above them, pushing forward the best they could, but reinforcements were beginning to arrive. Soon they would be overrun and then who knew what would happen.

Lance only had a split second to make his decision.

“Pidge!” he yelled over the sounds of the ion cannons and roaring lions.

She glanced over her shoulder, fear in her eyes. Lance crouched, offering a step with his interlocked fingers.

“I’m right behind you!” he yelled as she hesitated.

She leapt, pushing off from Lance’s hands and flaring her wings, beating heavily against the atmosphere, rising steadily. He looked up once to make sure that she was actually going, breathed a sigh of relief when she made it high enough for her lion to loop down and catch her in its maw.

He could tell the exact moment that she realized he wasn’t behind her. Green froze as Lance offered a tired smile, Galra claws sinking into him as they weighed him down.

_Pidge is safe._

_They’re all safe._

_Why does my side hurt?_

His legs gave out beneath him at last as the Galra who had run its blade through him removed it, his vision darkening almost immediately.

The last thing he remembered was the blur of the lions overhead as the Galra closed in on him.

 

* * *

 

 The entire flock was shell-shocked as they entered the command deck in the castle. Allura and Coran were pale, the Princess’ four wings almost brittle as she folded them behind her.

“They have Lance.”

Pidge was the first to speak, her voice faint. Her shoulders were hunched in on themselves, her wings quivering from stress and pain. She pressed herself against Shiro as if he were the only thing that could possibly hold her upright- to be honest, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

Keith’s wings were rigid with tension, and he beat them twice as if to attempt to shake off residual heat.

Hunk looked nauseous. His wings were loose around his shoulders, the feathers fluffed in a way to comfort the larger male.

Shiro…

Shiro was numb.

His mind was lost, struggling to find reality among the flickers of days past, of the druids hovering above him with their knives, of the arena.

Lance was in the hands of the Galra.

He sank to the floor, only distantly hearing the cries of his team, his flock.

_His wings had been clipped before they sent him into the arena- their bleeding stems left a crimson trail behind him as he flared them defiantly at the beast that the druids had designed to go against them this time. The terrain was flat, sparsely decorated with rocky outcroppings that were so close to the sky he could almost touch them-_

_The druid hovered above him, her features twisted into a sick parody of a smile. Her claws ran down his arm, nearly purring as he let out a low moan of pain._

_“Yes, you would do nicely for my champion.” She hums, digging her claws in deep as she gets to work, his screams lost to the empty room around them-_

_“You are_ mine _, Champion.”_

_She had branded him, torn apart his flesh and put it back together. She had done it for fun-_

“Shiro. Shiro, look at me.”

He keened, the sound low in his throat.

“No. Breathe. Breathe, Shiro. In, and out. In, and out. Come on.”

Keith.

Keith was the one kneeling in front of him, his wings spread around him, just barely touching him as he pressed his hands against his cheeks and looked into his eyes.

“There you are.” His voice was soothing. “Just look at me. Don’t go down that road right now. Just breathe. We’re here. We’re here.”

A chorus of low trills and coos echoed the statement, and Shiro finally managed to take a deep, shuddering breath. His hands had clawed, his prosthetic creaking as he forced himself to relax the hand.

Pidge wormed her way under his arm, pressing herself as closely as she was able even as her shoulders began to shake from the stress that the entire day had brought to her.

“Lance saved me.” She whispered between heaving gasps of air. “He said he would be right behind me but he wasn’t.”

“We have to get him back.”

Shiro couldn’t believe that the weak rasp came from his own lips, but Keith’s lips thinned as he nodded.

“We’re going to get him back.” He promised. “Whatever it takes. He’s one of ours. Our flock-brother.”

Somehow, the words didn’t sound as promising as they should have.

 

* * *

 

 Lance knew where he was the second he managed to pry open his blood-crusted eyelids and hazily take in the dark room. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother him as much as he had been sure it would have.

His side was still aching, but it seemed like someone had at least partially healed him so that he wouldn’t bleed out. Mentally, he took inventory of himself, strangely relieved to find himself in one piece.

Grunting, he pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning as his side aches.

Alright, maybe he wasn’t as healed as he’d initially thought.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

The voice that spoke was nearly a purr. Lance tried to study the Galran officer the best he could, but with one eye that was currently able to see anything and the rest of his exhaustion, it wasn’t going terribly well.

_Well, at least now you know you’re completely screwed sideways up the creek without a paddle or a boat._

The pit of unease in Lance’s stomach grew. He could feel every inch of skin on the back of his neck prickle, and even as he tried to ignore it, he could feel his feathers doing the same.

“Over time we’ve analyzed your team’s strategies. Strengths, weaknesses, your dynamics on the field. Of course, we had originally thought the smallest of your number to be the weak link, but what an opportunity to waste when you are ever so ready to sacrifice yourself for another?”

Lance flinched at the words, remembering the fear on Pidge’s young features as she had struggled. She was like… not a friend, but not quite a sister either. She was simply his.

He plastered a dark smirk on his features, straightening his back as he stared the soldier in the eye.

“They’re going to come find me.”

“So certain. Tell me, Paladin, why would they come for one who could not even retreat back to the safety of their ranks?”

An odd look crossed their features, and Lance felt himself bristle.

“This one will hardly last long.” He made a noise in his throat, turning to leave the room. “Do what you will with him, Haggar. Though any information would also be… _appreciated_.”

Lance noticed the witch, cloaked by the shadows. Her eyes gleamed.

He screamed as white hot pain exploded across his vision.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, heads up. Torture, angst and other goodies here.

_Day 1_

They still don’t quite grasp that one of their flock is gone.

Shiro was all but unresponsive in the team’s massive nest in the lounge. Keith flanked him, a long wing unfurled to cover the older male. His brows had settled into what seemed to be the new permanent expression of thought, and his hands were running through Shiro’s feathers, carefully pulling them back into place and ensuring that each was just so.

Hunk had excused himself to the kitchen. It wasn’t a secret that their Yellow Paladin dealt with stress by cooking and baking- Coran had followed to make sure that the larger male didn’t hurt himself.

Pidge had initially been a mess. She had attached herself to Shiro’s side until they had made it to their nest, and then it was as if a switch had been flicked in their youngest flock-mate. Now, her fingers flew across the keys of her computer, her eyes gleaming oddly as she reclined against Shiro’s legs. No one dared mention it, however.

Allura was quiet, seated on the outskirts of their nest, leaning against the back of the seating. Her knees had been drawn up to her chest, and she had taken to absently beginning to groom one of her wings, her brow furrowed deeply in thought. Logically, she knew that they should be on the command deck, but new flocks such as theirs also needed to ensure that each member was up to the task at hand first. Coran had slowly been coaxing her to think of other perspectives, and the princess realized that she had not really seen Lance’s involvement in Coran’s teachings until now.

Shiro shifted, his large wings straining against the gentle cage of Keith’s.

_The snaps of the cuffs on the table-_

_The silver-grey of the witch’s hair as she leaned over him, a clawed finger tracing a line over an eye to his jaw-_

_His wings beating as he tried to gain height, the weight of the Galra on his legs tiring him-_

_Pulling his feathers from his skin, realizing that they were thinning-_

_His arm aching from the attachments that had been linked to him-_

_Curling into the smallest form he could, unable to fold his wings due to the breaks that he had suffered in the arena._

He grit his teeth, hand seeking the comfort of one of his flock.

Keith automatically slipped his fingers through his, grip gentle.

Pidge stretched out a wing, the soft gold feathers brushing against his cheek even as she stared determinedly at her computer.

There was a silent brokenness to the air.

 

* * *

                              

 " _Mijo, you strain too much.”_

_His abuela’s wing cuffs him soundly, and he stumbles with a startled cry._

_She is serene as she sits there on the bluff, meditating. Her wings are outstretched behind her, catching the warmth from the sun as it slowly travels down across the sky._

_“I don’t get it.” He whines, rubbing his head as he attempts to re-situate himself in a sitting position._

_“And you never will if you don’t stop.”_

_She lazily opens one eye, half-lidded. She looks more like a cat than a bird, he can’t help but think. He knows better to say it by now, though. “You must feel the wind as it caresses you, mijo. Feel it catch beneath your wings, slips through each feather and pulls you into its rhythm.”_

_He is seven._

_His abuela always looked at him with an odd gleam in her eye, as if she could see something that he couldn’t. It was why she nearly dragged him up to the bluff every night, claiming to be taking him on some kind of spiritual journey._

_He wondered if she did it just to have an opportunity to be cryptic._

“Wake up.”

Lance gasped as he surfaced, arching against the pain that suddenly flared in his chest. The witch stood over him, features carefully neutral as she drove the arc of lightning, glowing bolt of power- _whatever it is he can’t think straight_ \- further into what had to have been his heart, has to be because all there is is _pain_ -

His armor is charred and half-melted. Haggar seemed to enjoy seeing how long it would take, how much pressure she needed to apply with her lightning-but-not power to get it to slowly warp and melt against his skin underneath.

She is cunning, intelligent, Lance couldn’t help but think at one point during his brief flickers of lucidity. She was testing him, slowly chipping away at his defences until he could hardly breathe, let alone speak.

It didn’t mean that he wasn’t still making quips when he was able.

“Seriously?” he snorts- _oh God, his throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper and he tried to swallow cinnamon straight-_ “If that’s the best you’ve got, we’re going to be here a while.”

Haggar chuckled. The sound was cold, devoid of any real humor.

“You haven’t realized that we’ve only just begun?” she nearly purred, easing off for a moment. The electricity danced between her fingers, and she flicked off what had to be his blood from a slender nail. He tried not to think too deeply on the action, instead coughing, the thick taste of copper gagging him.

He had definitely figured out that the witch was simply playing with him, as a cat would with a mouse.

“Little Paladin, your friends aren’t going to come rescue you.” Haggar cooed, the sound crawling up his spine and causing every inch of feathers and hair to stand on end.

“We have all the time in the world.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Day 5_

Pidge is going insane.

Her fingers flew over the keys on her computer, attempting to triangulate the possible coordinates for the Galra ships that had been present at the battle. They had no idea which ship Lance could have been taken to- after Shiro’s capture, it seemed likely that they would not make the same mistake twice.

Her wings trembled.

She could remember everything in perfect clarity.

_“I’m right behind you!”_

Except that he hadn’t been.

_She hauled herself into Green, flipping on all systems and freezing as she realized that she couldn’t feel Lance’s connection as he synced into Blue._

_He was still down there._

Tears prickled at the edge of her vision, and she blinked at them furiously. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry. Not until they had Lance back where he belonged.

And yet...

That tired smile.

It haunted her, kept flashing behind her eyes when the night grew long and she grew more exhausted.

She didn’t understand why he had smiled so tiredly. Lance had never looked at her like that before. Had never looked at _anyone_ like that before. She had known him for close to two years and he had always been smiling, if a bit quiet during the intimate intricacies of flock-bonding. Always smiling, always ready to comfort, always with a quick-remark or joke.

“You okay?”

“Stupid question, Hunk.” She sniffed, rubbing her eye with one hand as her large flock-brother sat next to her on the floor. His wing enveloped her, quiet strength radiating from him even as he gently pulled her into his side.

“I know.”

His voice was quiet. He was just as tired as the rest of them, but he knew he had to check in on Pidge. During their Garrison days- _it seemed like forever ago, now-_ she would run herself into exhaustion and still keep going until she ended up sicker than a dog. Lance too, if he had the chance.

“I just- why would he do that? Why didn’t he try to fly after me?” she asked in a tiny voice, fingertips finally paused, hovering over the keys. Her hands were trembling, Hunk noted- the same as her wings.

“I don’t know, Pidge.” He replied, looking out the huge window across from them. Empty space stretched as far as he could see- Lance was out there, somewhere. Trapped with the Galra. The same creatures that had destroyed Shiro.

Her wings beat against him, agitated. He carefully adjusted his own, semi-folding them in case he needed to offer comfort again.

“I just- I _can’t_ lose any more of my flock, Hunk.” She finally whispered.

“Yeah.”

They remained there, until Coran stumbled upon them several hours later. Rather than waking the pair, the elder Altean simply sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly before going to find a blanket to drape over them.

 

* * *

 

 

_Day 9_

“Get up.”

He clawed his way foggily into consciousness, realizing that he was still cuffed to the odd reclining table that Haggar- wait, no, that didn’t seem right-

His nose scrunched in thought.

No, no, that was right.

“Very well.”

A heavy hand coiled around his throat and bodily lifted him- Lance whined deeply in his throat at the pulling that the motion made against his bloody and torn chest. His eyes cracked themselves open to look at the one who had a hold of him. He didn’t recognize them- the thick Galran armor prevented that.

It was then that he realized that he could hear the sounds of something growling.

A wicked grin spread across the Galran’s features as they realized that he was more coherent. With a scoff, they threw him to the ground.

Stars danced behind his eyes as his head collided with something on the ground- quite possibly a piece of his broken chest-plate. Coughing, he shakily pushed himself up, realizing he was bleeding.

“Enough, Marxon. My pet will feast upon his flesh soon enough.”

Haggar.

She was silent as she approached, a noise deep in her throat as she tilted her head, appraising him.

“After all, you will be my Champion.”

Icy fear bled into his chest. Shiro had spoken little on what had entailed being Haggar’s “Champion”, but he knew that it had involved losing his arm and his wings nearly shredded.

“The thought makes you uneasy, Paladin.”Haggar laughed throatily. “Worry not, I have little intention of sending you in your current condition to face my pet. No, you are not ready, yet.”

Her hand crackled to life with the strange dark violet lightning as she crouched, a savage grin on her features as she seemed to loom in front of him.

“But you will be.”

She sunk her claws into him, and Lance screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance’s room was barren compared to their flock’s nest, Shiro noted as he carefully entered the Blue Paladin’s room. He had only entered twice before, and both circumstances had been during the night.

But now, he could see the small things that he couldn’t before.

His nest was carefully constructed, for example. Thick blankets and other items had been carefully piled and twisted together to make a sturdy frame for the interior, which was stuffed to the brim with pillows and several other blankets. And, Shiro noted, a single downy feather, barely the size of his finger.

He would have thought that given Lance’s nature, he would have more tokens decorating his room, his nest. But there was a strange lack of that. Shiro knew that the younger member of his flock collected bits of everything during their travels, but where he kept them was obviously not here.

The last several days had been hard, mentally and physically, on Shiro. Realizing that Lance was likely with Haggar, at that second, made his stomach roil with nausea.

_His first victory in the arena. Haggar’s lips twisting in a smirk as she began to heal him. He felt like every nerve was on fire-_

_“My new pet. What did you think, Champion?”_

_“Struggle all you like, little pet. It makes little difference to me.”_

_The whip descending against his flesh, splitting it open-_

He inhaled deeply, shaking down to each feather. There was an uncomfortable heat building at the corners of his eyes, and he knew he was quickly spiralling. Leaning against the wall, Shiro allowed himself to slide down to the floor, his wings limp as he drew his knees to his chest.

Lance was gone.

_We will find._ Black’s rumble echoed down their bond. _Find Blue One. Return to flock._

There was no doubt in the Black Lion’s mind that it would happen. Determination simmered between them. She was not one to speak often, nor was she one to hold punches when she needed to speak with her Paladin, and Shiro found that he appreciated it more than he thought.

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his knees.

_Rest now, I watch._

As if by saying it, Shiro found his eyes closing, suddenly realizing how exhausted he was. His last thoughts before surrendering to sleep were of their flock-mate.

Who, at that moment, was fighting for his life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, lots of psychological/physical torture and fun stuff. 
> 
> Secondly, I deeply apologize if I've mangled the Spanish language. It's been a few years since I've delved into it and my translations are probably seriously rusty.

_Day ???_

_He’s floating._

_It’s an odd sensation- he feels as though he should not be, but can’t name why. There’s something he should be doing- what is it?_

_He frowns, wracking his memory for what it could possibly be, when a sharp lance of pain pierces through the foggy floating sensation. A broken whimper escapes him as he curls into himself, hands over his ears in an attempt to relieve the sudden pressure that surrounds him, constricting his breathing and making his skull feel like it will crack and shatter into a million pieces._

_Before he can stop himself, his wing flares in aggression, a warning against any who may try to attack him while he struggles mentally. The tawny feathers make his lip curl, and he throws his head back with a howl as the pressure continues-_

“How interesting.”

Immediately, Lance found himself back in the present, the witch staring at him with a calculating expression as she stalked a circle around the chair he had been bound to, preventing him from making an attempt to flee or stop her from breaking the memory extraction.

“So that is why you made little attempt to flee.” Haggar continued, a cruel smile stretching her lips. “You could not, even if you so desired.”

His breath rasped in his throat as he tried to catch his breath, but as she came to stand in front of him once again he managed to muster the energy to spit at her.

“Tell me, Paladin- does your pitiful flock know how _truly_ useless you are to them?”

“Go to hell.” Lance growled.

“I thought not.”

She snapped her fingers, summoning the two guards that she had brought with her. “Hold him. I wish to see this for myself.”

His eyes widened as the soldiers grabbed him, pulling him upright even as Haggar chuckled, digging her claws into the remaining pieces of his chest plate and all but tearing it away from him. The force of it jerked him forward, and he felt, more than heard, the sound of something snapping in his wing as it caught against the hard metal of the chair.

Panic rising, Lance began to struggle in earnest against the clawed hands that were like vices as Haggar circled back around him.

_No. No no nononononononononononono-_

He stifled a scream as she continued cracking apart his armor and suit, finally getting to her desired prize. Sharp claws dug into flesh as the witch pulled his wing away from his spine, making thoughtful noises in her throat as she did so.

“You creatures are truly fascinating.” She commented, honing in on the fresh break in the joint. “I recall your Black Paladin being much the same. So… _focused_ … on these appendages.”

He was trembling, fear and pain and exhaustion running rampant through him. Now that she had unfurled his wing, pain was forefront. He could barely keep himself upright.

“Yes, you will perhaps be the most useful of my pets yet.” Haggar thought aloud before dropping the feathered limb and circling back to his front.

“But first…” She sighed, a disappointed sound, “I suppose I should attempt to find something useful in that mind of yours. Zarkon would be most… _displeased_ … otherwise.”

Her eyes flashed, and this time, he wasn’t able to hold back the howl.

 

* * *

 

 

_"Ven, Lance.”_

_“¿por qué?”_

_“No hay preguntas, mijo.” His abuela rolls her eyes._

_He sticks his tongue out at her._

_She cuffs him soundly with a wing-_

_“McClain, the only reason you’re here is because someone flunked out.” Iverson snaps, looking like he would so enjoy doing the same to him. “Not because you’re special. Now get in there and do the simulation before I send you back as a cargo pilot.”_

_His lip curls, his back straightens, and he ignores the looks from his team as he stalks past into the simulator-_

_“Is that a ship?”_

_“Wait, aliens are real?”_

_“Maybe you just need to knock-“_

_Blue, her gaze settling on him, warmth seeping into his bones for the first time in a long time-_

_No._

_This is wrong._

_Lance shudders against the white hot stabs of pain radiating throughout his skull, realizes distantly that it might be him screaming, him they’re ripping apart, before he can’t breathe. His lungs seize in panic, and he tries to surface, seeking the air he so desperately needs-_

“Lance!”

_Okay, that is definitely not right, because there is no way that Shiro is here, not after everything that he’s been through._

He coughed, copper thick in his throat, before somehow managing to pry open his eyes. His skull literally felt like someone penetrated it with a dozen hot pokers, and he sobbed once as he had to close them again against the harsh light from above. He didn’t want to think too deeply on where the light was coming from, nor what it might mean for him.

“Come on Lance, you have to get up.”

_That’s definitely Shiro’s voice._

And as if the thought summoned him, there were his concerned eyes, his hands cupping Lance’s cheeks and looking him over. His wings were folded tightly against his back, the familiar patterns imprinting themselves on the backs of his eyelids.

A relieved smile crossed Shiro’s features.

“Hey, hey. Easy. Come on, let’s get you up.”

“Pass the salsa, Maria.” He murmured groggily, earning a faint chuckle from his teammate as he wrapped his arms around him and heaved him up. And then he cried out as the fire stabbed into his chest and _oh God, make it stop make it stop make it stop-_

“You’re not real.” He said when he could breathe again. There was just no way- there would be more noise than this, there would be guards, there would be the witch-

He shuddered at the thought.

Shiro’s eyes widened, and a blossom of crimson spread from his chest at the words. He dropped to his knees, Lance still cradled in his arms, and looked down at him in betrayal.

_“You did this.”_

Shiro collapsed.

He couldn’t help the sound of horror that escaped him as the crimson grew to surround them. And yet, no one was coming. Was it all in his head? He hoped it was- it was better than the alternative.

Haggar appeared, head cocked at the same odd angle it always seemed to be while she studied him. It was unnerving- he felt as though he were an insignificant insect under her gaze.

“Just get it over with already.” He coughed, more of the copper tang flooding his mouth. Everything ached in ways that he had never known he could, his head a foggy mess of reality and fiction, present and memories, and an overlying layer of hot pain that was throbbing behind his eyes. His broken wing twitched against the floor- Haggar’s gaze flicked to it, lazily.

“So eager. Very well then, _Paladin_.”

She always moved so quickly, Lance thought as her claws sunk into his chest, into the brand that she had carved there, easily hauling him upright with a single hand.

“I should warn you…” she bared her teeth in a primitive smile.

_“This is going to hurt.”_

* * *

 

 

_Day ???_

He gasped as he jolted awake, trembling as he reached back to touch the grotesque pattern of feathers, praying that it had all been just another dream. At encountering a coarsely feathered wing, metal entwined with false flesh and bone, he couldn’t help the sob that fell from his lips. He had wanted to fly again, but he had never asked for _this_.

The dull roar of the crowd echoed through the empty corridors to his cell, but he paid it no mind, leaning his head back and blinking back the hot tears.

His left shoulder ached, the cold of the cell doing his new limb any favors, either. It had had to be replaced after his first fight in the arena- some kind of venom had gotten into a wound and had quickly eaten through the joint. It was a miracle he hadn’t been left with an entire new arm to match Shiro’s.

“ _Prisoner 163-2499.”_

The word came from the soldier at the door of his cell. A moment later, it slid open. Three guards entered, making quick work of hauling him to his feet and cuffing his hands together behind his back. Two flanked him, a heavy hand on each shoulder to prevent him from trying to fly- not that he would get far anyway. He’d already tried it once in the halls and had quickly found himself lost.

The dull roar grew louder as they drew nearer to the chute leading to the arena. Lance felt numb. There would be no mercy out there for him. He already knew it, but there was an ache in his heart regardless. Primitive sport like this hadn’t existed on earth for hundreds of years, but apparently space hadn’t gotten the memo yet.

A standard weapon was thrust into his hand- a sword of some kind today- and he was pushed into the darkness of the tunnel, the door locking ominously behind him.

He sighed, shakily, closing his eyes and imagining home in his mind. His abuela, his brothers and sisters. The bluffs where he had grown up, learned to fly, and the sea stretching out for miles ahead of him.

“Lo siento, mama.” He whispered, his grip tightening around the hilt of the blade as he opened his eyes, staring down the tunnel and striding out into the false light of the arena.

The beast was huge, darkly furred with blazing crimson eyes. Its canines were half his size, honed to an edge that was probable in its ability to cut through anything.

As he stepped into the arena, he was only aware of the jeers, the roar of the crowd as someone announced the match. He knew Zarkon wasn’t physically present- why compromise himself when he could just as easily transmit the match to him?- but it made no difference to him.

They knew he was weaker with a sword than a long range weapon like a rifle.

He had to compensate.

_Match begin._

The beast shrieked, some bird-like noise that pierced the air and caused him to flinch at the sharp noise.

His wings flared automatically as he placed his hands on the hilt and steadied himself as it charged him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self Harm happens/is implied this chapter. 
> 
> Also a huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this work! I truly appreciate it- it's what motivates me to pump out these chapters so quickly.

_Day ???_

He was shivering.

He used his wings to try and retain the heat close to him, but it did little to nothing, at this point. The atmosphere this arena was in was too cold for his body, himself too weak from the lack of care.

Was this how it was going to end, after all? Alone, without his flock-

Flock?

He tried to draw up their faces in his mind, found that he couldn’t remember. Who were they? Did he even have a flock, or did the witch take that away too?

His brows furrowed as he tried to think of their names, but found that he couldn’t remember those, either. He’d had a name once, he thought. Now he was Prisoner 163-2499.

He winced as he shifted wrongly on his still bleeding leg, fingers of his real hand probing gently. The prosthetic that had replaced his left arm pulled uncomfortably on the remaining gap of flesh between his shoulder joint and just past his elbow. He felt like the thought should have him at arms, but there was little point. They would still send him out into the arena.

_Weak._ A voice whispered in the back of his mind. _You’re still weak._

He curled further in on himself, eyes flickering shut. The temperature of the room seemed warmer suddenly. More comforting than alone.

_Is this how it ends?_

 

* * *

 

 

_“LANCE!”_

_“Is… breathing-?”_

_“Lance?”_

_“Oh God- done to him?”_

Something is tugging at him.

He groaned, trying to curl into a ball even as the thing continued pulling at him. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s on fire- it’s a distant sensation, as if it wasn’t him that it were happening to.

But then something touches his wings and he panics.

His eyes snapped open, seeing nothing as he beat them in an attempt to shake whoever was trying to hurt him off. Hands latch onto the feathers, and he cried out in pain as the sensitive joints were jolted and pulled in the wrong direction.

_“There’s no time to be gentle-“_

Garbled nonsense filtered through to him through the haze. He recognized the voice, though. Where did he know that voice? It wasn’t one of the guards or the witch.

He settled, stiffly as someone lifted him from the floor. His head rested loosely against whoever it was, the faint scent of feathers and dirt filling his nose.

And then he knew nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Thirty nine days.

It had taken thirty nine days to find Lance.

It was a monumental achievement- if it had been just anyone else, it would have likely taken years to find the missing Paladin. And yet, thirty nine days was still thirty nine days too long to find their missing flock-brother.

Shiro had refused to let anyone see him, their leader ashen and visibly shaken as he’d taken Lance and rushed him to Allura and Coran. He was reacting badly enough to the touches of those around him that Shiro and Coran had, after a heavy argument, agreed that a healing pod would likely do more harm than good until Lance was more coherent.

“It’s… bad.” Coran said, looking far older than Shiro had ever seen him. “There’s a lot of scar tissues that are hindering him. Combined with whatever that witch did to him…”

The words went unspoken, but Shiro knew what they were anyway.

Mentally, they didn’t know what they were dealing with.

Shiro had just been a pilot on the Kerberos mission when Haggar had gotten a hold of him. Lance was a Paladin of Voltron.

It made him sick to his stomach to think of what his flock-brother had endured at the hands of the witch.

Coran brought up the information that his handheld scanner had been able to collect, glancing over at the teen lying on a bed. For his own safety, he had cuffed his hands to the side-rails, doing his best to ignore the prosthetic that made up the boy’s left arm and definitely avoiding looking at his wings.

At a nod from Shiro, the advisor collected himself and cleared his throat, beginning to read through the main points and desperately trying not to think of whose vitals they were.

“Branded twice- chest and shoulder. Galran prisoner band on his shoulder. Prosthetic shoulder joint, prosthetic arm from the lower radius down. Prosthetic wing- it appears to be a Galran wing, though there is visible tech ingrained with it.”

He paused, inhaled deeply.

“However, prior to that, there is scarring that spans the majority of his shoulders and back, continuing across his biological left wing. With this information, I can deduce that he likely lost the other approximately seven of your years ago, rendering him incapable of flight.”

Coran’s wings were trembling, and he folded and refolded the four of them several times before he dared look at Shiro. The Black Paladin was shaking, his wings flared as everything seemed to fall into place in his mind.

Why Lance wouldn’t nest with them. Why he looked so uncomfortable when it came to grooming, to flying, to sharing space with them. And it definitely explained why he wouldn’t want anyone in close proximity to him.

“God.” He finally managed, shoulders slumping as he rubbed his face. “All this time, and none of us knew.”

“It’s hardly your fault, Shiro-“ Coran tried, only to be cut off as the large black wings suddenly loomed around them, Shiro’s eyes dark as thunderclouds.

“Just, don’t. Not right now, Coran.” He warned, shaking out his wings before pulling them back in.

A low noise of pain attracted their attention. Shiro walked to the bed, gently running a hand through Lance’s hair- it had gotten so long since he’d last seen him- and spoke softly.

“Hey buddy. C’mon, let’s see those eyes. You there?”

Another pained noise, the barest flicker of movement from beneath the lids.

“I know it hurts. Come on, Lance, open your eyes.”

_“Nn. Not real.”_

The small, defeated voice broke Shiro the second the words escaped Lance’s lips. His chest ached.

“Of course I’m real. Come on, buddy. We’re in the castle. You’re safe.”

Lance remained silent, and for a moment Shiro thought he may have slipped back into unconsciousness. But then hazy blue eyes cracked open, looking at Shiro but not really seeing him as a humorless smile pulled at the edges of his mouth.

“Nice try, witch. He’s dead. You killed him last time.”

_Oh God._ Haggar had made Lance think that they were dead.

“No, no. Lance, you’re okay. I’m real. I’m _real_.” Shiro shook his head, leaning over him, pressing his forehead against Lance’s, barely holding himself together.

“Who’s… Lance?”

“You are.”

A wispy laugh rasped from Lance’s chest, and he shook his head.

“I’m no one. Prisoner 163-2499.”

“No. You’re Lance McClain. You’re the Paladin of the Blue Lion of Voltron. And you’re my flock-brother.”

Lance’s brows furrowed and he flinched in pain, suddenly looking more alert. “No. No, you’re wrong. I’m no one. Prisoner 163-2499. I fight in the arena. I am alone.”

His eyes widened, and he strained at the cuffs as he tried to twist, fingers clawed as he cried out, wings flaring. Shiro’s stomach roiled at the sight of the black wing, coils and lines of wires and gleaming machinery entwined with the ragged feathers.

“Get it off, get it off, get it off.” Lance panted, his voice quickly rising to a keen. “Please, get it off of me!”

Shiro tried to grab at his hands, but the prosthetic glowed a familiar sickly violet before the cuff melted and Lance lunged forward, knocking him off balance. Twisting, the teen desperately clawed at the black feathers, gouging into his own skin as he panicked, moving in a frenzy.

“Shiro, stop him!” Coran cried, leaping into action as he grabbed a sedative.

Shiro nodded, moving forward and quickly grabbing hold of the flesh hand, his other going for the prosthetic. Lance all but shrieked the second he touched it, however, bucking against his grip, wings pinned beneath their combined weight. The silver fingers gleamed with crimson as the older male managed to grab a hold of it, holding them tightly as Coran moved forward.

“ _No!_ No, please! _Please!”_ Lance shrieked as Coran administered the sedative. “Please, not again! Please don’t!”

Jolting sobs wracked his thin frame as Coran retreated, weakly tugging against Shiro’s grip as the sedative went to work.

He could feel bile working its way up his throat, and he lunged for a nearby waste bin in time for everything in his stomach to work its way out. It was all too much for him. He could feel the cuffs against his own skin, hear the scientists around him as they pinned him down and did the same thing to him.

Coran’s wings stretched out to brush against his own, and Shiro appreciated the small gesture.

“I’ll be back.” He grunted as he shakily got back to his feet, feeling a thousand years older in that moment. “Don’t let anyone see him like this.”

Coran nodded, a similar expression of grief and exhaustion on his features as Shiro made a beeline for the door. His thoughts were scattered, memories surging forward from the triggers that Lance had accidentally pressed mentally.

The flock knew better than to wait right outside the door- they had clustered themselves in the lounge nest and waited for him to walk past. Allura in particular- while she was the princess and captained the ship, even she recognized Shiro as the leader of their flock.

Keith appraised him, every inch of him coiled with tension. Hunk was wrapped in the largest blanket that he likely had found, Pidge pressed into his side, staring blankly at the wall.

“How is it?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s bad.” He said, the words sounding far away. As if it weren’t really him saying them. “Really bad.”

Keith saw the way he trembled, how his eyes weren’t quite focused on them, and smoothly stood, moving over to stabilize him before he could collapse. He wished he could say thank you, but his vocal chords had seemed to freeze up, flashes of other places overlapping the lounge.

“Come on, Shiro.” He soothed, rubbing a hand down his back. “Let’s go to the training deck.”

He nodded, the others silent as they saw just how close he was to cracking, to shattering like a piece of glass against the ground. A mental snap was right around the corner, but Keith knew that. He knew Shiro, knew his odd habits from over the years, and he knew that getting to the training deck was the best course of action at the moment. Everything else would come after that.

One at a time. One foot in front of the other.

It sounded a lot easier in his head.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get better this chapter ( It's got fluff, guys! ). I struggled like you would not believe with it, though. Rewrote it four times before I was satisfied enough with it to post.

He woke to the sensation of something cool surrounding him. It was almost bearable despite the heat that his body seemed to be on fire from.

Soft voices drew his attention to a small screen just to the right of his limited vision. He recognized them. Shiro’s, and another, softer female voice.

“His fever’s too high. The healing pod would be ineffective if we were to put him in one now.”

_Shiro._

The name came unbidden to his mind, followed by flashes of the man in memories that he didn’t even know he had.

_A warm smile-_

_Draping a heavy wing behind him as a curtain during breakfast-_

_Big wings, used for sheltering and protecting, marred by scars and pain-_

_A disapproving frown as he watched them bickering-_

_Big wings, powerful wings, used to protect his flock-_

It was dark.

“We can’t leave him in the bath for much longer, either.” A sharper voice said. “Do you think we’d be able to get Blue to use their bond to help him through the fever?”

_Pidge._

_Small wings, uncertain how to use them-_

_Quick fingers dancing over keys, brows furrowed even as he- she?- she leaned into his leg-_

_Sharp-tongued as she tried to go after a broad shouldered man four times her size-_

_Fear in her eyes as she struggled against her captors-_

_Small wings, quick wings, always used to express her thoughts-_

Blue.

His Blue, always his Blue, with loud rumbles and warm thoughts to chase away the dark that lingered in his mind. Her rumble echoed down their bond, waves of love and affection and rage for him rebounding between them as their bond snapped back to life.

_My Paladin._

And then there are other faces, faces he suddenly knows and sees them in his mind as clearly as day, Blue’s warm presence in his mind carefully bringing them to the forefront. Gentle wisps of memories he distantly recognized, names and faces that he knew instantly.

_Hunk._

_Big shoulders, big wings, always protecting him-_

_Gentle soul, nimble fingers as he cooks something that he should know the scent to but just barely grasps it-_

_Warm smiles, warm hugs-_

_Big shoulders, big wings, protecting even when he is afraid-_

_Keith._

_Temperamental, pretends he doesn’t care even though he smiles small smiles when no one looks-_

_Fast, narrow wings for speed and for attack-_

_Loud, always loud to him-_

_Pretends he can’t stand him but he knows that can’t be true because he’s smiling even as he crosses his arms-_

_Smiles that are rare but full of affection when he uses them-_

_Fast, narrow wings, always held at a pristine angle behind him-_

_Allura._

_Four wings, big wings, pretty wings, shining with the colors of a galaxy-_

_Too much weight on her shoulders-_

_Laughter bright as the sun as she gasps for breath, wings relaxed for the first time in days-_

_Four wings, big wings, pretty wings, the only of their kind-_

_Coran._

_Four wings, warm wings, the color of the earth and the amber-orange of leaves in the fall-_

_Loves unconditionally, tries to protect them from the world that surrounds them-_

_Gentle smiles and touches only for him, meant only for him because he knows that he is not like the rest of their flock-_

_Four wings, warm wings, always expressing his thoughts even if he wishes they wouldn’t-_

“Lance?”

He groaned, shifting, trying to push himself upright and hissing at the pain in his wrist and shoulders. He froze when he realized that he couldn’t feel much of his limbs, but then Shiro was there and Blue’s gentle purr was in his mind and he forced himself to relax.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright now. It’s just Pidge and I.”

“Pidge.” He tested the name fuzzily, his head spinning. “Ng. Hurts.”

There were big black wings streaked with silver and violet at the edge of his vision, and suddenly he felt his chest tighten, a strange beeping in the back of his mind as he fought to stay calm. He wasn’t with the Galra, he was safe and these were his friends and Blue was okay and he-

He was not okay.

Weakly, he struggled for purchase against the strange container he was in, shivering as he realized that he was in an ice bath of some kind. There wasn’t enough air, he was choking and he felt claws in his chest before warm hands rested on his shoulders and Shiro’s voice was saying soft things, low trills intermittently woven into the comforting words.

“Lance. Breathe. Come on. I know you’re hurting, but you have to calm down, okay? You’re going to slip and hurt yourself.” Shiro rumbled gently, brushing his hair back from his flushed cheeks. “Do you know where you are?”

“Castle ‘v Lions.” He slurred, head sagging against the warm hand against his cheek. “Blue tol’ me.”

“ _His levels are beginning to drop_.” Pidge’s voice said from far away as he began to drift again. _“You can probably take him out of the bath._ ”

_“Hear that? Hold still, kiddo. I’ve got you.”_

Gentle arms surrounding him, pulling him into a warm chest that was familiar and smelled of home and flock, and he surrendered himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Pidge waited until Shiro had situated Lance in a makeshift nest with an IV- or the Altean equivalent- before letting out a shaky breath and steadying herself against the table she was leaning against. Shiro hadn’t been lying when he said that Lance was in a bad way. Seeing it, however, was another situation entirely.

He’d been feverish for the last several hours, but his temperature had suddenly spiked and Coran and Hunk were tasked with hunting down something vaguely human shaped that would fit their sick flock member.

Honestly, they had never really gotten an answer on what exactly the tub was from, and she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to know.

Seeing their flock-brother like this was scary, for lack of a better term. Her memories of the older teen were centered around warm smiles and ruffling her hair affectionately as he passed by her in the hall or while she was studying. He and Hunk helping her learn how to fly- she had been a late bloomer, so to speak and hadn’t quite gotten an opportunity until after settling in at the Garrison.

She had never questioned him, never doubted him, and had quickly found herself forming flock-bonds with Lance and Hunk in an effort to belong to a flock now that she was away from home.

Looking at him now, she would never have connected the two people that he had become.

This Lance was broken. Scarred. Branded.

She had managed to keep herself composed until Shiro explained that the reason why Lance had never joined them in their flights, the reason he never preened with them, _the reason he hadn’t followed her that day_ , was because he literally couldn’t. That he had, by Coran’s calculations, lost the appendage almost seven earth years ago.

He would have just barely been the same age she was now.

Nausea pooled in her stomach, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

It explained so much of why Lance was the way he was, too. Why he logged such heavy hours in the training deck during the small hours of the night and into the morning, why he seemed to never touch anyone, and why he stayed oddly quiet and defensive when asked about his wings.

It was all because he’d lost one.

Pidge couldn’t imagine losing either of her wings. They were distinctly _her_ \- an extension of herself in every sense of the word.

Shiro had warned her that Lance might try to somehow remove the black Galran wing that Haggar had grafted onto him, as he had the first time he’d woken. Honestly, if she were in his position she would likely consider the same thing. Shiro as well. It had been bad enough while he drifted off staring at his prosthetic arm, but now that he could see the same on Lance…

It was breaking him.

And the others still didn’t know.

“Haggar is _never_ going to touch him again.” She growled into the quiet room, her hands gripping the table with a strength she didn’t know she had. “And if we find her, I’m going to _kill_ her.”

This war had changed them, turned them all from frightened children into veterans. They had all killed, bonded through their experiences, held steady in the face of the oncoming storm, and they would survive it even if Pidge had to drag them through it herself. She had lost her father and brother. She wouldn’t lose her new flock too.

“She’s not going to get her hands on _anyone_ ever again.” Shiro promised, a dark gleam in his eye as his wings spread, one wrapping Pidge in a blanket of muted silence and warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

When Lance stumbled out of the healing pod, it was to gentle quiet and gentle hands. His mind was cloudy, his limbs heavy as he sagged into the waiting arms of Shiro.

He felt… better. Mentally, anyway. He was still exhausted, and he ached from head to toe, but he recognized the people in front of him, could feel Blue’s presence steadying him through their bond, and managed to keep his panic from escaping him.

“You’re looking better.” Shiro smiled down at him.

“I’m tired.” Lance admitted, his good arm reaching to rub his shoulder.

“You should be- spent nearly three weeks in there.” Keith’s voice drawled. There was no heat to his words however. All Lance could see was soft concern for him in his gaze.

“I missed you.” Hunk said next, approaching carefully as Shiro pulled Lance into a bridal hold and turned to settle the both of them in the nest that the flock had manufactured in front of the healing pod. “You really scared me, man.”

Hunk’s eyes seemed shadowed- dark stains seemed to be pressed around his eyes, and it almost looked like he had lost weight since he could last remember. Lance couldn’t say anything to that- how could he, when he had done it to save Pidge?

But Hunk smiled a sad smile, like he knew exactly what Lance was thinking, and reached out a large hand, Lance’s automatically mirroring his from muscle memory as they fist-bumped.

“The important thing is that we have you back with us.”

Coran and Allura smile at him from the edge of their group, their wings wide and open in sincerity.

“You’re home.” Pidge chimed in, fierceness in her tone that Lance hadn’t heard before. “And you’re not going anywhere. Zarkon will have to tear me away from you before he can touch you or Shiro.”

Lance could believe it. Pidge was a warrior through and through, despite her stature and her role in their flock.

_Nothing will part you from me again._ Blue added, a threatening note in her mental “voice”. _Our pride will protect you, My Paladin._

Safe and secured in Shiro’s familiar arms, surrounded by his flock and Blue, Lance couldn’t help but sniff, tears at the corners of his eyes.

_Home._

“Hey.” Shiro cooed as Allura and Hunk added their own concerned trills. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

His shoulders shook.

He was home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I love reading all your comments and seeing so many kudos, you guys! Thank you so much for the support.
> 
> Flashbacks, violence and maybe self harm-esque themes ahead? Also some fluff because I did promise a happy ending eventually, dangit! Too bad we're not quite done yet....

The first thing that had been made clear from the moment that Lance had been put into a healing pod, as far as Shiro and Pidge had been concerned, was that no one pushed Lance. Admittedly, they were all on the same page in that they knew Lance wasn’t completely sound of mind.

Physically…

Alright, so he was lacking on _both_ fronts.

Hunk had been okay for all of two seconds before bursting into tears and needed to be consoled by Keith of all people before he was coherent enough to get himself back together. This was _Lance_ \- Lance who had always been at his side and who would never, ever frown unless he was thinking of home or bickering with Keith. Who helped him with his anxiety when the Garrison got tough, who carefully explained to Pidge what each feather did when they were teaching her how to fly, who readily accepted them as they were.

Seeing him all but lifeless in the pod, his visible skin marred and mottled by fresh scars and bruises, his left arm _missing_ , his wing on display for everyone to see…

He refused to see the implant that Haggar had given him as part of Lance. The wing, definitely Galran in size and shape, had been grafted into Lance’s scar tissue from where he’d lost his biological one. Apparently, Coran had explained, it _could_ function, but didn’t. The design that Haggar had used with the technological part of it served more as a shock collar, or the alien equivalent.

_“Any attempts at flight would activate these sensors-“ Coran brought up the specs from the wing, pointing out several smaller points of light, “Which would then trigger a massive shock through the nerves and bring him down. Likely to keep him from trying to escape or avoid being caught in the arena.”_

If Shiro and Pidge were out for blood before, they were practically ready to storm Zarkon’s ship then and there and rip the witch’s head from her body at that news.

Hunk was just nauseous (Later, he would be found heaving in the bathroom by Keith).

Allura was scarce after that news as well. She didn’t take it well at all. She was the princess, the one who had brought them all together as Paladins. And now, to see the shape that Lance was in because of that decision- she was beginning to second guess herself. Thankfully, Coran refused to let her think that it was her fault, and frequently followed her when she left the room, his wings doing the same thing that Shiro’s did when he was in the protective-parent-mode.

“Have you seen Lance?”

Hunk blinked.

“No.” he shook his head. “You think he’s in his room?”

Shiro sighed, looking tired.

“Pidge went looking, but I don’t know if he’ll be there.” The older man shook his head. “I don’t blame him- I know my thoughts can get pretty loud.”

Hunk’s wings outstretched, brushing Shiro’s as he offered him a warm smile. He knew that Shiro was still trying to recover from his time with the Galra. He hadn’t really been given time to do so, either. He’d crash landed on Earth, only to turn around and head back to space, get recruited as a Paladin, and throw themselves into training.

“You know I’m here for you, man.”

“I know.” Shiro replied, offering him a smile in return. “But I’m doing okay. Lance... he isn’t.”

“He’s stronger than we gave him credit for.” Keith added from his perch on the back of the couch. His wings draped along the floor, occasionally shifting to balance himself. “Just… I think we should give him some space. Not hover every second of the day. I know you hate it when I do that to you, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded thoughtfully.

“I know that. But I just need to make sure he’s okay. Flock-dad stuff and all.”

Keith groaned, rolling his eyes at the terrible title that he’d drunkenly coined for their flock leader one night after accidentally ingested Altean liquor. (A long story, and not one that he enjoyed reliving, now that he thought about it.)

_“Uhhh, Shiro? Can you get to the training deck? I think I found Lance.”_

Pidge sounded mildly panicked over the comms, and the sound cut out a moment later.

“That can’t be good.”

 

* * *

 

His vision was tunnelling.

Lance could feel Blue’s presence in the back of his mind- he was fairly certain that that was the only reason he hadn’t completely lost himself.

He hadn’t been able to sleep. Honestly, he would be surprised if he ever slept again. So, he quietly padded through the halls to the training deck, the weight from his wings unbalancing him. After so many years of only dealing with the weight of one wing, he was overcompensating for two.

He didn’t bother locking the door, instead starting up the gladiator simulation and inhaling deeply, wincing at the sharp pain that stabbed through his chest. His hand- his real hand, moved to touch the thick Galran symbol embossed on his flesh, the false hand tightening on itself. His shoulder ached- the fake joint was over sensitized, and he didn’t quite know how to ease the constant pinch that seemed to have settled there.

He dropped into a familiar hand to hand stance that he distantly remembered someone teaching him. Keith? He didn’t know.

The gladiator dropped from the ceiling, and Lance quickly lost himself in the movements, barely even thinking as he ducked and wove around the simulation. Level after level passed, time flying by as he pushed himself, as if doing so would push away his demons. If he stopped, everything would come back- reality would set back in and he would drown.

It took the first two levels to figure out how to adjust his stance with the presence of a second wing after so many years, but even then it wasn’t perfect. His biological one, the one that he had been born with and grown into, was smaller than the massive black Galran wing that the witch had Frankensteined onto him. The Galran wing was nothing but a hindrance, a chance at blind hope for a child.

He hadn’t been a child for a long time.

Rather than tiring, Lance seemed to fall in between space, floating in a period where exhaustion didn’t exist, reality didn’t exist, nothing existed but his breath in his lungs and the sweat on his brow. The gladiators in front of him even seemed to melt away, turning into vague shapes that he was able to dance away from and pretend that it was something else, anything else-

It wasn’t until a blade grazed his cheek that he realized that he may have slipped into the higher levels of the simulation. His lips thinned, brows furrowing as the world seemed to come back into focus for a brief moment. He wasn’t ready to leave the safe place he had carved out in his head and his heart. He never wanted to leave. If he didn’t, then he could pretend that it was just another day.

_“It says he’s on Level 7- no, Level 8 now.”_

Lance shook his head, blinked at the faint sound of a new voice. It allowed the gladiator to gain a momentary opening, kicking him in the knee and trying to force him to the ground. Lance hissed at the pain, a mirroring one echoing in his mind. Without willing it, an overlap of dusty purple columns replaced the grey floor before returning to normal.

_“Sh. Try not to speak too loudly. I’ll see if I can snap him out of it.”_

There were four of them now- they surrounded Lance with their familiar white and bronze armor, weapons of varying sizes and shapes in their hands as they moved in.

He bared his teeth as another flicker of the arena replaced his current settings. Even Blue seemed quieter and more distant.

He whirled, high kicking one gladiator even as he lashed backwards with an elbow, taking another out by the hip. His wings flared aggressively at the remaining two gladiators, their span impressive in their own right.

_First match. The slavering hound that the witch had created solely to pit against him. The freshly healed wounds on his back twinge, the newly grafted wing aching even as he grits his teeth. Haggar would have to work a lot harder than this to make him crack._

_His eyes flick around his surroundings- purple columns, some kind of sandy-dust, and several smaller outcroppings of rock, all of them stained with what can only be blood._

_He flicks the long knife he was given out at his side, getting a feel for the balance. Keith had always said that he was useless with a knife. Now he had to use one to keep himself alive. A humorless chuckle makes its way from his throat, his eyes never leaving the beast even as he crouches, flaring his wings and waiting for it to make the first move._

* * *

 

 

Shiro can tell the second that Lance slips. There was a sudden shift in the younger Paladin’s stance, his entire frame tensing.

“End simulation!” Pidge ordered from behind him, even as she tapped the keys on the pad to ensure that the simulation did, in fact, end. They could remember all too well when the castle had corrupted and the training deck had almost killed Keith. Keith was still wary of too much training without someone else present.

“Lance…” he tested, shifting his foot forward and cursing when the other didn’t even flinch. If anything, his wings grew even more tense as he turned, his gaze far away even as he brought his arms up to defend himself.

Definitely not good.

And then Lance was moving, impossibly fast even with his light build and the fact that he had been using the deck for hours, wings flared for balance as he collided with Shiro. They toppled backwards, feathers flying as Shiro beat his wings to try and prevent his head from hitting the floor, Lance snarling deeply as his arm suddenly glowed an all too familiar violet.

“Shit!”

He didn’t have a choice as he did the same with his own arm, the pair of them clashing like goliaths as they moved around the room. Lance was obviously trapped somewhere else- likely in the arena, if Shiro had to guess. The only options were to let it work its way out of his system or to interrupt it. Which, at this point, would likely mean a sedative. Personally, Shiro didn’t care for either scenario, but he also knew that this was unlikely be the last of many flashbacks for the both of them.

He ducked, blocking the heavy blow that would have impaled his chest, Lance’s hand glowing that sickly violet as he smoothly redirected, managing to knock one of his knees out from under him with a solid kick.

The next several minutes drew on in much the same manner, Shiro managing to keep up with Lance’s movements because he recognized the same desperation that he had when he and Keith sparred together. But he did have one advantage- he knew where Lance’s blind spots would be. He didn’t like manipulating his flock-brother, hated it, but Shiro only had so much energy and Lance seemed to be in a state where exhaustion didn’t exist.

Pidge watched from the sidelines, her wings quivering as she watched the pair of her flock-brothers clash together, hating the way her chest tightened and her eyes felt hot, like she was about to cry. She hated that Lance was like this, hated that he didn’t even recognize Shiro, hated that she couldn’t do anything to help. She felt guilty that she had even gone down to that stupid planet in the first place, because then Lance would never have had to follow her and save her and then get captured by the Galra and tortured and _oh god, she was having an anxiety attack_ -

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as she focused on what she could feel in her hands and feet. Focused on how her hair felt against her cheeks and her wings moved against her back. Within several moments, she felt herself diverting her attention away from the thoughts that had troubled her. It wasn’t often that she had her attacks now. She didn’t think she’d had one since the Garrison, actually. Life just seemed too busy as a Paladin to have to deal with such things.

“Shiro?”

“Lance. Hey, kiddo. Look at me. Are you with me?”

Pidge looked up, taking in the way that Shiro suddenly seemed to be holding Lance upright as he sagged, all the fight leaking out of him at once.

“I think so? What happened?”

Shiro sighed, twisting carefully so that Lance could mirror his movements, and began leading him towards the door. He was favoring his left leg, Pidge noticed. She narrowed her eyes at him- he shrugged, Lance looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“You went a little distant on us for a minute, that’s all.” Shiro ignored the look that Pidge was giving him entirely, turning his entire focus to Lance. “And I may have stepped in to make sure that you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh.”

Lance slumped further, if that was possible, going completely limp. Shiro yelled in surprise, shifting to make sure that he was okay and letting out a breath of relief as he realized that Lance had fallen asleep.

She growled something highly unpleasant under her breath as she moved to help Shiro hold Lance up, silently vowing to personally repay Haggar for everything she had put Lance through and then some.

_No one_ hurt her flock-brother.

 

* * *

 

 

When he came to again, Lance realized that he was in a nest.

His nest.

The familiar warmth of his blankets soothed him, and he shifted, only to realize that he wasn’t alone.

A smaller figure was curled against his back, feathers draped over his own as they breathed evenly. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he noted the tawny colors and relaxed slightly as he realized that it was Pidge.

“Go back to sleep, Lance.”

Her tone was thick with sleep as she grunted the words, and she shifted her wings slightly as she shifted closer to him. It was strangely endearing, hearing her say it. Still half-asleep himself, he mumbled something that may have been a reply before pulling a blanket over his head.

He didn’t even realize that he had allowed someone to touch him until he woke later in the morning, a warm spot in his nest and several downy feathers the only sign that Pidge had been there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think we've only got a one or two more chapters left for this beast, and then a bunch of others to follow in the series. 
> 
> This one's actually... not that terrible? Mentions of flashbacks, some depression/anxiety.

Lance couldn’t sleep.

Part of it was the new ache in his joints- for all the show that the witch had put on, he would have thought that the tech she implanted would have at least _worked_.

The walls were echoing, the darker thoughts in his mind stirring the longer he restlessly shifted in his nest. Pidge had returned once or twice to stay the night, but it had been several days ago since the last time. He was fairly certain it was more to comfort her- that he was still breathing, still alive and with them.

Somehow, he had quickly latched onto the comfort that her presence had brought, even though he knew that it was something of an odd occurrence, considering that he still couldn’t bear to be touched during the day. Something just… rebelled at the thought of it.

He turned that thought over in his mind several times, inhaling deeply as he tried to center himself. He knew that if he continued to stew like this he was probably going to trigger another flashback, and then he would be even more aggressive and unapproachable come morning. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to wake anyone else. It just didn’t seem like something that he should do. He knew how exhausted everyone was, always keeping an eye on him.

Grunting, he pulled himself upright, momentarily unbalanced as he flared the large Galra wing. He still expected it to function as his original had- first mistake. It was bigger, heavier, and he couldn’t stand the sight of the blackened feathers. It was a constant reminder of being trapped with Haggar, being thrown into the arena.

Lance shuddered at that thought, phantom pain running through him as he remembered the first time he’d tried leaping into the air, wings beating furiously against the chains in his side-

No.

He shook his head, lip curling. He didn’t want to go down that road.

Instead, he grabbed his bayard- recovered after his capture by Pidge- and wandered to the door, pausing for a moment before opening it and stepping out into the hall. Glancing both ways, he found himself with the dilemma of where he was going. He hadn’t exactly thought this one out.

After another moment, he sighed, turning and heading aimlessly toward the lounge. If nothing else, he would be able to collect his thoughts, clear his head.

Lance didn’t account for meeting someone else, though.

As he passed by the training deck, he could hear the sounds of a simulation running. For a brief moment, he considered keeping walking, but really, he would probably just get lost and have to page someone to come find him. But he didn’t know who was up, and frankly, he didn’t know if he had the energy to deal with anyone if it happened to be Keith.

To his startlement, it was Shiro.

Lance didn’t even know about this particular simulation- a massive wind was whirling around the room, buffeting Shiro’s immense black and silver/violet wings as he wove in and out of the gladiators pursuing him.

A massive spear was in his hands- it seemed suitable for him- and he wielded it nimbly as he took down the seven gladiators with relative ease.

He knew that Shiro had probably noticed his entrance- he wasn’t exactly unnoticeable with his mismatched wings, and considering that no one else was up, any other movement outside the simulation would be noticed almost immediately. However, Shiro didn’t say anything until he had crushed the final gladiator and ended the simulation, alighting on the floor with a grace that was nearly effortless despite his wingspan.

“You’re up late.” He commented, leaning against the spear. “Everything okay?”

Lance shrugged, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He offered half-heartedly. “Everything was getting a bit-“

“Loud?” Shiro finished, a knowing look on his features. It was a sad look, one that told Lance that the older man knew exactly what he meant. And he did- he had been captured by the Galra too, knew exactly the kinds of horrors that the druids were capable of.

“Yeah.”

Silence sang between them, Shiro examining Lance for signs of something. Then he sighed.

“Come on. Let’s go up to the viewing deck.”

The viewing deck was the one closest to the stars- the entire ceiling made of the same fortified glass equivalent that comprised all of the windows in the Castle of Lions. It was the same one that he could recall visiting when he wanted to bring up the holograms of Earth and their home solar system.

Lance seated himself gingerly, as if he expected the floor to bite him. Shiro was just as careful, though it was more to ensure that he didn’t move too quickly and startle Lance. That, and to make sure that he didn’t accidentally cuff the younger man upside the head. It had been known to happen from time to time, usually with Keith.

“I want this wing off of me.”

The words were so soft that Shiro almost missed them entirely. Sharply, he looked over to Lance, seeing him staring at his hands in his lap. The prosthetic had been improved, Shiro noted. Lance’s arm was almost identical in color, but seemed slimmer. The materials were more refined and pieced together.

“I know it seems silly. I just… I _can’t_. Not like this. I never asked to be remade. Parts of me are missing, and I keep wondering what if I just seem _ungrateful_ , even though it’s a _wing_ and I _should_ be grateful, right? But then I keep catching myself and realizing that it’s _not_ mine and will _never_ be mine, and I can just see _her_ face in front of me.”

Shiro remained silent, even as he instinctively spread his wing around Lance, offering the shelter he seemed to need as he continued to ramble, voicing the thoughts that he kept locked inside of him during the daylit hours around the others.

“I would rather stay handicapped than live like this, Shiro.” He finally said, looking over to him with a deep, soul wrenching grief etched into the lines on his face. He looked far too old to be living through this war, living the horrors he had been forced to endure. “It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was _me_ , right?”

“Lance, I can’t make the decision for you.” Shiro said gently. “But if it’s what you genuinely want… I’m behind you. I know it’s hard trying to cope with everything. So if you want this, okay.”

Even if something in his chest tightened at the thought of Lance being unable to fly, he pushed it aside. It wasn’t his decision to make. It was Lance’s. And he couldn’t judge him for wanting to be rid of something that was the source of a lot of emotional and physical hurt.

They sat there after that, quietly watching the stars, Shiro offering what comfort he was able, until their stomachs moved them toward the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone seemed to find Lance in the oddest of places when he got into one of his moods. The days when the voices in his head seemed to drown out everything else and he needed to isolate himself to sort them out.

Keith immediately took notice when Shiro also seemed to go missing on these days. Not that he could blame either of his flock mates. Lance was likely triggering old memories in Shiro, and Shiro wanted to be there for Lance to help him through whatever lapses he seemed to be having.

But actually having to be the one to calm Lance down?

That was not usually what fell to Keith’s shoulders.

He’d gone down to the hangars to try and meditate more with Red, but had stumbled across Lance. He was deep in meditation, a thick furrow between his brows as he shakily inhaled. Blue’s rumbling purr echoed throughout the air, a soothing sound despite how loud it was, and she looked to Keith as if to say, _What are you waiting for, idiot? Help him!_

“Lance?” he asked carefully, gently, making sure that he was out of reach in case he decided to go on the offensive. Shiro did, occasionally, and he’d learned his lesson well after the first couple of attacks. “Hey, can you hear me?”

A faint twitch to the edge of his whole wing.

It still disconcerted him, being able to see Lance’s real wing out in the open. It was mottled with deep umbers and siennas and creamy beiges, white flecks scattered throughout the thick feathers. The Galran wing was so dark compared to the other. Bulky.

“Lance.”

Carefully, he looped around his flock mate, crouching in front of him and gently touching his cheek with his palm. Trying to ground him with touch was likely the best scenario. Shiro seemed to do well with it, too- whenever he had a moment, the entire group had learned that gentle touches and words would be enough to ground him again, bring him out of whatever dark place he had fallen into.

Lance’s eyes flickered, slowly cracked open as Keith continued to gently coax him out of his dark place, wings folded behind him tightly. Probably for the best, considering that he seemed to have a negative reaction to anything darkly colored when he got like this.

“Hey. There you are. Come on. You’re with me and Blue on the castle. You’re safe. Open your eyes, bud.”

Lance shook as he exhaled, his eyes focusing more clearly on Keith.

“Hey.” He greeted, a wry smirk on his features.

“Hi.”

He looked shaken. Keith wanted to join Pidge upstairs and help her hunt down Haggar and tear her to pieces. Unfortunately, the witch knew how to cover her tracks, if nothing else, so it was glacial going.

“Just breathe.” He encouraged quietly, moving his hand from his cheek to hesitantly touch his shoulder. It was the false one, hidden under flesh and scars, but Keith didn’t want to push Lance by trying to smother him. “Are we okay?”

“I think so?” Lance’s brows furrowed, and he closed his eyes for a moment before nodding.

“Okay. That’s good. I’m going to sit next to you for a while, okay?”

“Okay.”

He nodded, seating himself carefully next to Lance even as he absently began rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder. Oddly enough, Lance didn’t pull away- it must have been one of the worse memories he’d gotten sucked into.

“Keith?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guys, I actually wrote a chapter with like, zero angst??? And it's the second last chapter, too. 
> 
> The next chapter is the last one... I'm not sure how I feel about that.

_“Shiro?”_

He was surrounded by dark flashes of purple, his limbs locked in a way that he was unable to move. Faintly, he could feel a strange prickling that ran the lengths of his wings.

_“I’m going to touch you, alright? Just breathe, man.”_

Shiro wanted to cant his head. He could almost feel his brows furrowing- that sounded- well, it sounded a lot like _Lance_.

He surfaced as he always did, as though oxygen were touching his lungs for the very first time as he inhaled sharply, attempting to shake the last vestiges of the attack. A dull ache had settled itself behind his eyes, and he instead focused them on the hand that was touching his own flesh one rather than the prosthetic. The darker skin pinpointed the other as Lance, the long and slender fingers curled around his own calloused hand protectively, nails short and the skin around them picked to pieces. Small scars littered the skin along his knuckles and across his wrists. They were trembling faintly, too. Shiro’s brows furrowed. Why was Lance shaking?

Sluggishly, he managed to lift his head, blinking as he realized he had sagged against the younger male’s shoulder at some point, his head resting against Lance’s shoulder.

“Just breathe, alright?” Lance said quietly, his tone too serious for Shiro. Lance was light and smiles and quick retorts- but that wasn’t this Lance any more. This Lance was quiet and broken and tried to hold everything inside of him so that he wouldn’t bother them, even though they were a team and a flock and they loved him.

Too tired to argue, Shiro did just that, breathing quietly as he closed his eyes and took stock of himself. He didn’t feel too sore, but he was beginning to feel the tell-tale signs that he was getting hungry, and there was a strange amount of tension that he recognized as one of the side effects of his attacks.

“You know, it’s hard to think that I was actually happy before all of this.” Lance said softly, staring at the wall across from them. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Back home, it seemed like losing my wing was some kind of punishment. That I was worthless and that I would never be able to have a flock of my own- because who wants a defective flock mate who can’t fly, right?”

Shiro hummed, following along with the gentle rhythm of Lance’s words. He had a very soothing voice when he spoke quietly- it reminded him of the ocean, ebbing and flowing.

“It really hit me that it was real when everyone started to find their mates, you know? It hit me pretty hard, realizing that I wouldn’t be able to fly with someone like that- to find my flight-mate. I still kinda wish… well, that I could try. But I think I’ve accepted that it’s not going to happen. I think I accepted all of this a long time ago. It just took me a while to figure it out. I was letting my fear of being rejected stop me from actually trying to be a good flock-brother to you guys. Man, if my _abuela_ could see me now… she’d probably just kick me right off of the ship. She wouldn’t have cared if she’d lost one wing or both of them- she would have lived.”

There was a tremor to his voice as he swallowed heavily, tightening his grip on Shiro’s hand.

“I’m scared, Shiro. I want to believe that everything is going to turn out okay, but I keep hearing voices in my head. I- I want to fly. I want to fly so badly, Shiro.”

Lance’s shoulders started shaking.

Shiro pulled himself upright, twisting to instinctively curl his wings around the younger, to cover and shelter and protect from the world, even as he shook his head. There was nothing he could think of to say- words didn’t seem like they would be enough. Instead, a small idea began at the back of his mind, one that he couldn’t help but latch onto.

“Then let’s go.” He said firmly.

Lance froze, his eyes wide as they locked onto his features, searching for any clues, as if he had only said the words as a cruel joke.

“I mean it, Lance. You want to fly- I’m going to teach you.”

“I think you mean we.”

Pidge materialized out of nowhere, her wings flicking as she offered a warm smile to her flock mates.

“You and Hunk taught me everything there is to know.” She shrugged as Lance seemed to be stuck in a state of speechlessness. “It seems fair that we help you.”

“My wings-“

“You can decide what you want to do later.” Shiro stated, remembering their late night topic of conversation that they had shared before. “Right now, let’s get you out for one more flight.”

Shiro thought he had prepared himself for whatever reaction Lance would have to that- to have him immediately break down into tears, his wings trembling even as he reached out to wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck and bury his face there was not one of them.

Pidge drew closer, her hands coming to rest on the top of Lance’s head and beginning to card through his hair soothingly as she trilled softly to him. Shiro mirrored the sound, dropping into a coo as Lance verbalized a quiet chirrup that sounded more like a hiccup than anything else.

Shiro and Pidge locked eyes, nodding to one another as they comforted their flock-brother.

They would get through this.

 

* * *

 

 

The training deck was a good place as any to start getting Lance more comfortable with the idea of actually attempting flight with his new and mismatched wings.

_“You’re going to need a counter-weight on your biological wing.” Pidge frowned as she examined the difference in sizes that Lance was dealing with. “You’re used to the weight of the one, but not two and it’s throwing your balance way off.”_

She’d come up with something of an armored weight that slipped on overtop of his wing, not pinching or pulling by some miracle on the scarring and tension. It was based on the amount of friction- at least, that was the explanation that she had given to the two men who were completely oblivious to her more scientific terminologies.

“Alright. Let’s see you stretch out these bad boys.” Pidge coaxed, her own stretching out in demonstration. “Your span is amazing, by the way- are you from an owl family? It looks like you might be- maybe the _Bubo bubo,_ if I had to guess.”

Lance blinked, marginally unnerved by how… _open_ Pidge seemed to be. This Pidge was not the same Pidge that he knew. The Pidge he remembered from the Garrison had been withdrawn, slightly snarky, and far too flighty for her own good.

But then again, time had passed since then. They had somehow come together, formed bonds with one another as they fought against Zarkon’s reign.

A soft smile pulled at his features- it didn’t go unnoticed by either of the others in the room.

“Alright, Pidgeon, let’s do this.” He said, rolling his shoulders and wincing as his false one popped before hunkering down into a slight crouch to compensate for the weight distribution. First the tawny dark brown wing unfolded, outstretching at a length similar to Shiro’s. Neither Pidge nor Shiro would have pegged Lance to have such a long wingspan, or broad, but their flock mate just seemed to be full of surprises nowadays.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just called me _Pidgeon_ in favor of staring at your wing.” Pidge sniffed, despite the small smile that she was trying and failing to hide.

“Whatever, shorty.” Lance shot back, a part of his old self shining through for a moment before he began to unfold the larger, black Galran wing.

He wavered at the denser weight, Shiro automatically moving to help the joints unfold with careful hands, barely touching the grafted wing as Lance guided it outward.

“Well, if there’s one thing I can say, it’s that alien wings are fucking huge.” Pidge deadpanned.

“Pidge!” Shiro scolded, earning an unrepentant shrug from the youngest of their flock.

“What? It’s true.”

Shiro sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, when the sound of startled laughter froze them all in their tracks. Lance himself looked startled, as if the noise hadn’t possibly come from his chest, and then Pidge giggled. Actually giggled.

The absurdity of it all hit Shiro then, and then the trio found themselves collapsing to the floor in hysterics. Lance had to lean against Shiro due to the force of his breathless laughter, and Pidge ended up with a noseful of feathers, which caused her to sneeze, several downy feathers puffing out of her still growing wings and further deteriorating the situation.

“What’s going on here?”

Lance squawked, jolting backwards, wings flaring and catching on Shiro, taking the pair of them down and causing Pidge to intensify in laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she wheezed for air.

Keith and Hunk looked at one another, unsure of whether they should beat a retreat, before Lance managed to straighten slightly and wave them in, still gasping as Shiro huffed as he managed to get his bearings, wings thoroughly tangled with Lance’s.

“We-“

“Lance-“

“Wings-“

They couldn’t hold it together, and this time Hunk beamed at the look of absolute joy on Lance’s face. He looked like the awkward teenager he’d befriended in the Garrison, his eyes alight with mischief.

Of course, Pidge sneezing next to him produced another puff of feathers, and then Hunk sneezed, his wings fluffing up with the force of it, and there was absolute silence for several long moments as Keith seemed to try and figure out if he had managed to fall into an alternate reality before Lance was wheezing again and Shiro snorted.

A strange half smile made its way onto the Red Paladin’s face, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“You guys are impossible.”

 

* * *

 

 

Once they’d all caught their breath, they checked in with Lance to make sure he was comfortable with so many present with his wings before Hunk and Keith retreated to the side of the room to watch. No use in getting in the way when Pidge _and_ Shiro teamed up. No use poking that particular bear when it was likely that they would go into their trademarked parent mode.

“Alright. Let’s try this again.” Shiro crooned low in his throat as Lance spread out his wings, the Galran one once again guided by faint touches and encouraging trills from Pidge and Shiro.

“It looks like the heaviest points are right at the joints.” Pidge commented as she moved to look at the druids handiwork, pointing out the places that she noticed were the thickest and heaviest. “But I think that’s mostly just from Galran wings in general, just like Alteans seem to have thinner and lighter wings.”

She was silent for a long moment before shaking her head and getting low to look at Lance.

“Now stretch them out and keep them even.” She ordered. “Flex them like you would in flight and then raise them.”

It was mirroring the words he’d said to her so long ago now, and he knew it as he snorted and did as he was told.

Or tried to, anyway.

The Galran wing really was massive. And while Lance had been learning to compensate for it during ordinary tasks such as walking and the like, preparing for flight had not been remotely considered. And so, even with the weight on his biological wing, he tipped to the right as the Galran wing flared.

“Well, it could have been worse?” Shiro offered with a sheepish grin before he found himself in the direct path of the wing. He went down with a startled shout, which then caused Lance to lose focus and lose his balance, which then caused his other wing to clip Pidge on the back of the head and bring all three of them down at once.

Hunk managed to keep his composure for all of three seconds before he burst out laughing, quickly followed by Lance. Despite his obvious frustrations with the overall situation, he knew that it _was_ hilarious at how uncoordinated he’d become in this particular instance.

“You guys suck.” Pidge groused, even as she rolled her eyes and smirked.

“We’re going to be here a while.” Keith said dryly. “I’m going to go get snacks. Anyone want a hydration pouch?”

There was a chorus of ‘yes, please’ from the group, and the dark haired male chuckled as he hopped to his feet, rearranging his wings as he went to go hunt down the required sustenance needed for their new mission to help their friend.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dare I ask what you’re doing?” Coran inquired innocently enough as he entered the command deck to find Allura seated in front of one of the screens, a smile on her lips as she scrolled through something.

“At the moment? Listening to our team be happy.” The princess replied softly, turning to look at the advisor even as another echo of laughter bubbled from the screen, followed by several chirrups, trills and coos.

Coran’s features softened at the sound, something in his chest unclenching.

When Lance had first been taken, he thought it was the end. The Blue Paladin was the one who seemed to be able to pull the team together when even Shiro had difficulties, his nature everything that they needed, without it being obvious. He was quiet and reserved at times, he realized now, but that had to do with his situation. Otherwise he was smiling and simply _being_ \- as if the very act of life was beautiful to him. And it was, truly.

He remembered the long nights, sitting alone in front of the Blue Lion, speaking his thoughts on how he wished that Lance was there so that they would be able to be a team, a _flock_ again. And while he hadn’t spoken a word of it to anyone, he knew that the Blue Lion approved of him.

After all, why else would she have allowed him entrance through her barrier?

He remembered her grief, her thoughts touching his own intimately. Coran had never thought himself much of Paladin material, all jokes aside- he was an advisor, the one who looked after everything while the others were out risking their lives for the universe.

And yet.

“It does my heart good to know that they are healing.” He said instead.

“They have far to go, and much to do still to defeat Zarkon, but I believe that they can do it, now.” Allura admitted softly. “ _They_ are whole- _we_ are whole again.”

He moved to rest a hand on her shoulder, pride in him for her, for the team, for their flock. They had endured so much- and yet it was possible to heal. To begin anew.

“That we are, Princess.” He agreed. “That we are.”

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He faltered, falling back as Hunk and Keith took to the sky with Shiro. Pidge floated down to a solitary perch that offered a full view of the dark blue sky, her wings flared as she cooled off. Lance joined her, his brows furrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter of Bolster My Broken Wings. I may have... err... hinted at something here. Completely unintentional, I assure you, but hey. It's gonna lead into Part II really easily now. I should have it up sometime tomorrow/later today, titled "Part of Your Symphany". 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, and overall supported this work! I truly appreciate you all and hope to see you again soon!

“I think I changed my mind.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Lance, but it’s too late to change your mind.” Pidge deadpanned, pushing her glasses up her nose as she stared him down. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re on the top of the highest point on this planet. Either you can make it down to the castle on your own, or we can just leave you here.”

“You’re heartless.”

“It’s a talent.”

The planet they had decided to stay on was mostly oceanic- well, oceanic in the alien sense. The liquid that covered the majority of the planet was broken up by patches of beaches and tall bluffs and cliffs that reached tall peaks of silvery-amber.

The flock had been dropped off at the top of one such peak that overlooked the waters, the ship in the distance as it settled on one of the more stable beaches of iridescent seafoam sand.

Lance inhaled deeply, almost able to pretend that it was home as he closed his eyes, trying to center him even as a warm wind pushed past him, his wings instinctively lifting to catch it. His mind reached out to the others, welcomed easily and with only encouragement.

Keith’s mental presence was a warm fiery passion that brushed past him with thinly veiled amusement and curiosity, always twisting and changing with his thoughts. His dark wings gleamed with pinks and reds as the sun caught them below his perch on the bluff.

Hunk was a gentle beam of light and warmth and love, his positivity radiating from him. He was wheeling lazily below, glancing up at him every once in a while to see if he was doing okay.

Pidge was sharp and analytical, but never overwhelming, her thoughts projected loudly in her presence. Currently, she was mentally rolling her eyes at him. Actually, she was doing that in current time too.

Shiro was steady, the rock that held them as he glided on a thermal, only occasionally giving a lazy beat of his wings to maintain his altitude.

Lance pulled on the threads of their presence, his uncertainty mingling with their calm and surety and confidence.

_“Go, mijo.”_ He could hear his _abuela_ say in the faint echoes around him. She would be laughing at him- a lot like Pidge, actually. She would have liked her.

“I think I would have liked her too.” Pidge echoed a moment later as she withdrew from their mental bond. A faint smile was etched into her features. “After all, you didn’t turn out so bad.”

Lance laughed, the sound clear as he threw it into the wind, as he stood.

The last few weeks had been hard, trying to remember how to function with two wings. He still couldn’t use the Galran one quite right, but that had been why Pidge and Hunk had come up with the counter-balance armor for his biological wing.

During the long nights, he lay awake, warring with himself on how he even felt with two wings again. He knew Shiro knew his sentiments, considering that he had very nearly poured out his soul to him twice before. And yet he hadn’t pushed him, was allowing him to make his own decisions, was allowing him to be who he needed to be in order to recover from what he had been through.

Emotionally, he was beginning to recover. He could smile again, was beginning to make jokes with Coran and subtle jabs towards Keith. He was helping Hunk in the kitchen and taste-testing all of his creations just like they used to in the Garrison. He and Pidge were still bantering, but it was more than just banter now- she had stuck by his side and had made sure that he was okay, doing her best to protect him as he had for her.

His bare toes curled around the smooth rock beneath him, and he smiled as the wind seemed to embrace him.

And then he fell forward, his mental bonds singing with love and trust and light.

There was fear, too, but he shoved that aside and focused on the sensations of the wind ripping through his hair and wings, embracing it before snapping his wings out on instinct, memories of doing it in a past life catching up to him.

There was a wild cry from above as Pidge threw herself after him, freefalling with the strength of a star as her tawny wings pinned themselves to her back. He fed off of her exhilaration, gave it back tenfold as the weight on his wing balanced him.

_Amusement._

_Disgruntlement, admiration._

_Warmth._

_Freedom._

They all shared their minds with the others, thoughts bared for the others to see in that moment. It was rare that they felt comfortable enough to do so outside of their training, but then again, they had all grown closer since those rocky first days.

Lance beat his wings, evening out as he dipped one wing and then the other, weaving in and out of the darker outcroppings as he went. Keith followed, the hint of a challenge unable to be passed by no matter the occasion. Hunk and Shiro followed at a more leisurely pace before Shiro veered off.

Something about the motion seemed to trigger something in their flock- suddenly they all found themselves weaving and ducking around one another, sharp throaty calls bouncing back and forth as they played with the other.

Lance wavered only a couple of times as he gained his bearings, his larger wingspan surpassing Keith and Pidge’s and ranking up with Hunk’s. (Something that had rankled Keith rather deeply at first, but he had gotten over it. Mostly.)

When one of Shiro’s wings grazed Lance’s, however, something changed in the dynamic.

Something resonated deeply in his chest, and he let out a shrill cry that was echoed by Keith and Hunk.

Lance could, in a way, see how odd it was as the trio flared their wings and circled around, a deeper call from Shiro pulling the three of them in. Pidge remained below their group, looking curious at the sudden change.

_“Mijo, when the time comes, you will know your heart’s desire.” His mother soothed as she smoothed back his hair. “You will dance with your partner in the sky, and they will match your rhythm and you theirs. It is not easy, though. You will have to work for it- your father was a stubborn man, mijo. I almost broke my neck trying to impress him!”_

This-

Was this that?

He faltered, falling back as Hunk and Keith took to the sky with Shiro. Pidge floated down to a solitary perch that offered a full view of the dark blue sky, her wings flared as she cooled off. Lance joined her, his brows furrowed.

“I think they’re trying to figure out if Shiro’s looking for a mate.” She commented dryly. “Though I didn’t peg Hunk to be the type to go after Shiro.”

“Why aren’t you?” he asked her, curious.

“Shiro’s more of a surrogate sibling or parent than a mate to me.” She shrugged. “I think. I didn’t exactly get “The Talk” before I ended up in space, so your guess is as good as mine.”

They were silent for a moment as they watched Hunk dive past Keith, Shiro falling in beside him for a moment, wheeling around one another in a barrel roll before parting, shooting back upward.

“Why aren’t you out there?” she returned.

“I-“

He snapped his jaw closed, looking down.

_He deserves more than me._

“You’d better not be going into your depressed-Lance mode, because if you are I’m going to have to smack you.” She informed him, giving him a classic Pidge-is-unimpressed stare.

“It’s not that. It’s just… I don’t even know how this works. I didn’t exactly get the rundown either, considering I lost a wing before everyone reached their majority.” He admitted quietly, falling quiet again as Shiro flared his wings, Hunk parting from the pair still in the sky and gliding down to join them. He looked positively enthusiastic as he lit down, immediately launching into conversation.

“That was so cool! I just- something in me just said to follow Shiro, and I did! And then we flew together, sort of! I don’t think we’re very compatible, though. My style is a bit different from his.”

Lance said nothing, tuning Hunk and Pidge out as they fell into a thorough discussion about something or other regarding finding a mate, tracking Keith and Shiro’s descent through the sky.

Keith was fire, passion, and sheer and utter speed in the sky. It matched well enough with Shiro, who matched Keith’s speed with a few lazy strokes of his wings. The pair wheeled and dove, returning back up to the sky, their movements blending together until it was difficult to tell one from the other.

Something in Lance’s chest tightened at the thought. How or why, he couldn’t pinpoint.

He didn’t get it, either. Sure, he liked both of the pair well enough, but he had literally very little connection to either of them unless you counted that he and Shiro had prosthetic arms. Not to mention that Shiro was way more stable than he was, and had known Keith years before he had known Lance, and _when had his traitorous thoughts centered themselves on Shiro?_

“Hmm.” Pidge said, watching Keith critically. “Looks like Keith’s like a brother to him after all.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, you see Shiro’s wings? He’s keeping up easily- if I had to guess I’d say that he’s humoring Keith more than anything. And see? Keith’s realized it too. He’s not trying as hard now.”

It was true- the pair had changed to fly alongside one another, playfully ducking and bobbing around the other.

_You coming?_

It took Lance a moment to realize that it was Keith’s mental voice that that spoken to him, full of exasperation as though he had said it before.

He frowned, staring up at the sky thoughtfully before standing and launching himself off of the rock, missing the startled look from Hunk and the strangely smug one that Pidge was wearing.

It wouldn’t make a difference, Lance thought dismissively. It was just one flight with Shiro- there wouldn’t be anything to it that they hadn’t already been through yet.

And then Keith peeled away from Shiro, leaving Lance alone with Shiro in the sky.

He could see the elder’s features, white forelock blown into his features as he glanced down and smiled at him, wings beating a rare rhythm as he banked, rising on a thermal as he waited for Lance, almost seeming to know what he was thinking as he climbed through the thick atmosphere.

The second Lance caught up to him, Shiro beat his wings, pulling ahead, inviting him to chase. He could almost hear the smirk that Shiro was wearing.

And yet, instinct took over as Lance pursued, his wings beating an offbeat rhythm with the larger wing. Shiro wheeled sharply, Lance following close behind, banking to try and cut off the dark haired man. A bark of laughter escaped him as Shiro paused for barely a moment before allowing himself to freefall back towards the distant ground below. Lance didn’t even pause- he immediately folded his wings to follow, ignoring the stinging of the warm wind against his cheeks as he rapidly caught up with Shiro, close enough to reach out with a hand and brush against a massive black and silver streaked wing before spreading his wings and veering, turning the tables on the other as he invited to chase.

He could sense Shiro’s steady mental presence, his indignation and faint amusement as he shot after Lance, who proceeded to lead him on a merry chase through the maze of smaller bluffs below the rest of their flock’s position.

Shiro was larger, but Lance was faster, and he dropped down to rest a brief moment on an outcropping before taking off again when Shiro caught up to him, a wild laugh escaping his throat. He barrel rolled to avoid a teasing clip of a wing, trilling up at Shiro as he flew above Lance, their speed slowing as their energy waned. Shiro chuckled, chirruping back in a familiar pattern, reaching down with a hand to run his fingers through Lance’s hair before retreating again.

“Bet you they’re completely clueless.” Keith snorted, leaning on his knees, watching as the pair evened out, wings in sync as they looped back around at a much more sedate pace.

“Not even worth it.” Pidge drawled, rolling her eyes. “It’s a given.”

“Twenty bucks.” Hunk shrugged.

“You’re on.”


End file.
